


No More, No Less

by Setcheti



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, April Showers 2015, Episode Related, Fix-It, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3808402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setcheti/pseuds/Setcheti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the measure of a man isn't about what he does - it's about what he doesn't do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No More, No Less

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t help but notice at the end of the Season 3 episode "Similitude" that Trip was standing alone – no one was looking at him, no one was standing less than a foot away from him. And since he was basically attending his own funeral...well, the idea that everything would just go back to normal for everyone after that seemed ridiculous to me. This story starts out dark and depressing, but it does get better in later chapters, I promise.

It had been two weeks. 

Captain Archer strode down the corridor toward the shuttlebay, his boots clanging angrily on the deck plating.  Phlox had called him in a panic, told him where Trip was and what the doctor thought he was doing.  Archer hadn’t needed to ask why Phlox hadn’t gone after the engineer himself, or hadn’t sent T’Pol; it was the same reason he himself didn’t want to.  But he was the captain, all the really nasty jobs landed on him by default. 

Like telling little boys they were born to die.  Or telling a grown man you’re willing to kill him. 

And now stopping a man from killing himself.  Damn Trip, anyway.  If they didn’t have to have him to finish the mission…he stopped himself before that thought went any further and summoned up more anger to keep it down.  How dare he, that selfish bastard!  Throw away what so much had been sacrificed to give him just because he was having a pity party.  So most of the crew were still uncomfortable around him, so what?  He was alive.  So conversations in the mess hall stopped whenever Trip entered, and no one wanted sit with him or talk to him, big deal!  They had a mission to complete, this wasn’t a pleasure cruise – and no one seemed to have any problem taking orders from Trip on duty, which was the most important thing.  And if the captain, first officer and ship’s chief medical officer were still having trouble being around him and couldn’t look him in the eye… 

Archer stopped before he’d dug in too deep for anger to help him out of it.  Tucker owed Sim and Phlox and T’Pol and Archer himself – and hell, Earth too!  It was the mission that had saved the ungrateful son of a bitch, and Archer damn well wasn’t going to let him forget it.  If he wanted to kill himself, he could just wait for the mission to be over and do it then… 

That one stopped him dead in his tracks, but only for a moment and then he pounded back on his way determinedly.  He had a suicide to stop, a mission to save – Earth to save.  He was the captain, this was his job.  He was going to tear Trip Tucker a new asshole and then kick him back to work. 

Or at least, that’s what he was going to do if he could force himself to face the man at all.  He hadn’t yet, and it had been two weeks. 

But he had to, he was the captain and the mission was his responsibility, Earth was his responsibility.  Billions and billions of lives were in his hands, Archer told himself as he entered the shuttlebay.  For their sakes, he had to do this. 

Trip was leaning in the open hatch of the nearest shuttlepod, and Archer shuddered; the similarity was too close, too soon.  The only difference was the phase pistol resting in the younger man’s hands.  That and that alone made him take the next step forward and open his mouth.  He had to open it more than once before anything came out.  “Trip!”

The younger man didn’t look at him.  “Hard to remember which name to use, or just hard to say it because it’s mine?”

Archer ignored that.  It was both, of course, but he wasn’t here to deal with the real problem; he just wanted to resolve the problem he’d been sent down here for so he could get away.  “I can’t believe you’d throw away his sacrifice like this…” he began. 

“Not plannin’ on it,” Trip interrupted softly, turning the gun over in his fingers gently, almost reverently.  “You saved me to save the mission, I have every intention of finishin’ the mission.  He said I owe him one and that’s what’s owed – no more, no less.  You don’t have to worry, Captain, I know you need me to get the job done.” 

If the words hadn’t chilled Archer, the matter-of-fact tone they were spoken in would have.  The touch of ice wasn’t enough to extinguish the guilt and anger burning inside of him, though.  “Then what are you doing in here with a gun, you mind telling me that?” 

“Thinkin’.”  Trip looked up from the gun to the walkway overhead and then back down to the deck plating.  “Rememberin’.”  He stood abruptly and walked right up to Archer, who took a step back in spite of himself, but Trip didn’t try to touch him; instead, he simply held out the pistol.  He didn’t blink when Archer took it, didn’t change expression at all when the other man avoided meeting his eyes, just detoured around him and kept walking to the door. 

Archer looked from pistol to walkway to deck…and suddenly, sickeningly, understood as a vision of the toy ship crashing to the deck popped into his head, a memory of a small yet painfully familiar voice being sorry for the mishap echoed in his ears.  “Remembering…how much?” he asked without turning around. 

“All of it.”  Trip paused in the act of opening the door, and looked over his shoulder; had anyone been watching, the pain in his face would have been unbearable.  But Archer wasn’t watching, and the engineer’s voice was even, giving nothing of his torment away.  “None of you can stand to be around me now and it’s okay, I understand.  Know how you feel, even.  Don’t beat yourself up over it.” 

The door hissed open, then closed, but Archer still didn’t move.  He didn’t move for a long time.  _No more, no less_ …  His own swiftly buried thoughts from out in the corridor resurfaced, ripping into his anger-fueled denial and leaving it in bleeding, useless tatters that could no longer shield him from his thoughts, his actions…from what he’d let himself become.  There were no tears, no cries, no curses – he had nothing to give, only cold, hollow emptiness.  Oh god, what he’d become…


	2. A Friend In Need

Trip walked out of the shuttlebay feeling light. Confronting Jon had lifted an intolerable weight off him. It wasn’t the only weight he was carrying, but it had been one he didn’t need and was glad to get rid of. 

He didn’t think he was ever going to be able to forgive the captain – to be honest, he didn’t really think of the man as his friend any more and didn’t think he’d ever be able to again. And now he knew damn good and well that Archer no longer saw him that way. Trip snorted softly to himself, shaking his head. He could have forgiven Archer for sacrificing someone to save him because of their friendship – he wouldn’t have been too happy about it, but he would have understood and eventually gotten over it. But Archer hadn’t saved him because they were friends. 

The memory was very clear in Trip’s head. He was only here because of the mission. 

And everyone knew it. Was it any wonder no one wanted anything to do with him these days? He wasn’t a person any more, he was just something they needed to finish what they were doing. Trip, the person, had been buried two weeks ago and the whole ship had mourned. There’d barely been a dry eye at the funeral, even among the Marines.

Trip’s had been, of course, but that was only because he’d been so much in shock over what had happened that he was too numb to react. 

Not to mention that he hadn’t really known how to feel about seeing himself dead and attending his own funeral with all his friends crying around him. 

But of course, they weren’t his friends any more. Friends were for people. Friends were for the living. Trip Tucker was dead, he knew that for a fact, and what was left wasn’t a person. He swiped irritably at one leaking eye. He wished being dead didn’t hurt so much, but he supposed it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter, not any more. He was just here to keep the ship running long enough to stop the Xindi, that was all. His captain had said so, more than once. 

And what was worse, he’d meant it. Trip had seen it in his eyes. 

He’d reached his destination by this time, and he set about letting himself in. He wasn’t worried about getting caught; Archer wouldn’t be coming out of the shuttlebay any time soon. And he wasn’t worried about Archer coming after him to reclaim his property either, because the man wasn’t going to face him again if he didn’t have to and after what he’d seen two weeks ago this wasn’t something that he thought would even make much of a ripple. 

He hadn’t realized Jonathan Archer had changed so much, since the Xindi. And it scared him. 

The door slid open and Porthos raised his head to look…and lit up with canine joy when he saw Trip. The engineer scooped him up and cuddled him, then put him back down and started gathering up the little dog’s bed and toys and dishes. “Movin’ in with me, boy,” he told the happy dog with a smile. God, it was so good to have someone glad to see him, even if it was just a dog. Even when he’d awakened in Sickbay, everyone had been avoiding him – including Phlox. Trip sighed. He’d have to see about ‘appropriating’ a medkit to keep in his quarters, just in case he got hurt; it wasn’t that he thought Phlox wouldn’t do his duty if something happened, but he wasn’t sure just how much of his duty the Denobulan doctor could force himself to do so maybe it would be better if he tended to his own needs for a while. 

Well, and to Porthos’ needs, of course. He smiled again, the expression feeling strange because he hadn’t had opportunity to use it in a while. Trip couldn’t believe how Archer had neglected his dog since they’d been out here. Maybe he’d been using the dog for something, some tiny shred of comfort he could derive from knowing it was in his quarters waiting for him, but obviously whatever the man needed from Porthos wasn’t giving the little dog enough attention to keep it from pining. That was about to change, though. “Comin’ to live with me,” he repeated to the watching dog as he rooted underneath Archer’s bunk for escaped toys. “Maybe I can’t be anything to anyone in the crew, but I can make sure you have what you need until this is over.” He sat up and plucked dust bunnies off the toy he’d found before tossing it into the dog bed, his expression turning thoughtful. He’d have to put some thought into what to do with Porthos once the mission was over. Giving the dog back to Archer was out of the question…Trip shrugged and stood up, brushing dust off his uniform. He’d deal with that when the time came. If he couldn’t find a proper owner to care for Porthos, he’d take the dog with him; better that then let it pine itself to death someplace without anyone to love it. 

He carefully pushed away the knowledge that his own future plans had been decided for pretty much the same reason; he wasn’t in denial, he just didn’t want to start crying again. Not here, anyway. Back in his quarters, with Porthos curled up beside him, then he could let go again for a while. Maybe he could even cry himself to sleep; his insomnia was back and getting gradually worse now that there was no one to help him control it. T’Pol hadn’t even spoken to him on duty unless she had to, and when she had no other choice her voice was so icy it burned. No, there would be no more Vulcan neuropressure sessions, never again. 

And that hurt in a different way, in a much deeper place. She couldn’t look at him either…but he couldn’t forget that kiss, the culmination of what they’d been building together these few months, the dream he’d never expected to come true. Another leak, this time falling onto the dog bed as he picked it up and therefore not needing to be swiped away. T’Pol was mourning him too, and he felt bad for her but not for himself. “Better to have loved and lost, buddy,” he told Porthos, who wagged his tail in agreement and grinned. Trip grinned back. “Okay then, let’s get home and then we’ll have somethin’ to eat, what do you say?” 

Porthos yipped. Trip snapped on his leash and opened the door, and the little dog bounced out into the corridor, dragging him along behind, the finality of the door closing behind them almost lost in the moment. It was the beginning of a new life, for both of them. Trip might not be a person to anyone else on the ship, he might just be a very necessary tool called ‘Commander’ that the captain had been forced to pay far too much to keep for the good of their mission…but he could come home to Porthos after every lonely shift and just be Trip again, a wanted and needed and much-loved friend. A month ago that wouldn’t have seemed like near enough…but right now it was more than enough for him, more than enough. 

Trip was almost – but not quite – whistling as he walked down the corridor on a heading for his quarters, but he stopped when he and Porthos rounded a corner and met Hoshi Sato coming the other way. The linguist looked at him and then quickly away, and Trip just managed not to wince when she moved out of his way, obviously trying to put distance between them. “Commander,” she acknowledged him nervously as she hurried past. 

“H…Ensign,” Trip responded softly. His memories…he’d let them lead him down to the shuttlebay, and they were all crystal clear in his mind right now. And he owed Hoshi something, something he needed to get taken care of while he had the chance. “Hoshi?” He looked back over his shoulder just enough to see that she stopped, but he kept his eyes down so he wouldn’t make her any more uncomfortable. “I just wanted to thank you, that’s all.” 

Hoshi stared at him, unsure of how to respond. “Commander?” 

Trip flinched just slightly, in spite of himself. “I…for readin’ with me. Before.” A slight smile, a memory of pleasure, touched his face briefly and then disappeared. “Just wanted to let you know I appreciated it. It was one of my favorite books, growin’ up, made me feel good to read it again.” He swallowed, turned away again. “Anyway, didn’t mean to hold you up. Just wanted to say thanks.” 

“You’re…you’re welcome,” the linguist answered automatically, and Trip flinched again and let Porthos pull him back into motion. He’d heard the tears in her voice and they hurt him, knowing that he’d hurt her by reminding her…but had he turned around again, he would have seen that they were tears of joy and not grief. Hoshi just stood there in the corridor, hand pressed to her mouth and tears flowing down her face as the realization exploded inside her that they’d buried an empty shell, not the man himself. They hadn’t known… She took off down the corridor at a run, needing to find Travis, needing to find Malcolm, and tell them that their friend hadn’t died after all. 

Trip didn’t know it yet, but he’d just become a person again. And even once he did, he still wouldn’t be giving up Porthos.


	3. Realization

Hoshi watched Trip eat out of the corner of her eye while she finished her own dinner.  He was gaining back the weight he’d lost, finally.  She smiled when he pushed something on his plate aside and Malcolm reached over with his own fork and pushed it back.  Trip gave the armory officer an exasperated look, and then smiled himself and blushed slightly, ducking his head, when Malcolm told him he’d have to be sneakier than that. 

Trip of a month ago would have come back at him for that one, Hoshi remembered with a pang.  Trip of now just chuckled under his breath and went back to eating, although he did cast some sidelong looks at Malcolm that were at once wondering and mischievous. 

It was the wonder that killed her.  He still couldn’t believe they cared anything about him.  Hoshi’s fingers tightened around her fork almost until it hurt.  She still couldn’t believe they’d let him believe otherwise – for two weeks, no less.  And if he hadn’t stopped her in the corridor that day while he was stealing the captain’s dog…

She was going to have the imprint of the fork handle embedded in her skin, Hoshi decided absently, not really caring much.  Porthos had needed to be stolen, of course; the little dog didn’t deserve to be neglected like he had been, he’d lost weight too.  And the captain had never asked for the dog back, or even asked how the dog was doing.  She resisted the urge to snort.  Of course he hadn’t; doing that would have meant he had to talk to Trip, and Jonathan Archer wasn’t about to do that.  No, Captain Archer, she amended silently.  Jonathan Archer was dead. 

As dead as he wanted Trip to be.  As dead as he’d convinced Trip he _was_ to everyone on board.  Hoshi didn’t think she’d ever be able to forgive the captain for that. 

After meeting up with Trip in the corridor she’d all but run to find Travis and then the two of them had gone to Malcolm in the armory.  And then the three of them had gone together to Trip’s quarters, and when he hadn’t answered his door Malcolm had checked to make sure he was inside and had then used his security override to let them in.  Trip had been on his bed, asleep, with Porthos curled up beside him. 

The fact that he had cried himself to sleep had been painfully evident. 

Travis had moved first, pushing past Hoshi and Malcolm where they stood frozen in the doorway, pushing them inside so the door could close and then going to the bed and sitting down near the head of it.  Porthos had looked at him mournfully and nosed at the hand Travis had offered him but hadn’t moved from where he was laying.  The navigator had stroked the little beagle’s head and ruffled his ears, and then, deliberately, had stroked Trip’s hair as well in an almost identical gesture.  And Porthos, Hoshi would swear it, had smiled. 

They’d all ended up sitting on the bed, and when a soft yip from Porthos had awakened Trip the engineer had sat up and just stared at them with an expression so startled, so hopeful…he’d reached out one trembling hand to touch Hoshi’s cheek, his reddened blue eyes widening when his fingers came in contact with her skin and then closing in an agony of relief when she took his hand and cradled it in her own much smaller one, pressing it against the side of her face so that he would know she was real.  Malcolm had put a hand on his shoulder, Travis had scooted closer…and then Trip has whispered the three words that had shattered Hoshi’s world.  “Am I dreamin’?” 

She hadn’t been able to speak, had just shaken her head no while tears welled up in her eyes, but Malcolm had found his voice to answer.  “No, Trip,” he’d said softly.  “We’re here.” 

“And we’re so sorry,” Travis had added.  “We…we didn’t know.” 

The engineer had frozen, pain overtaking hope again as he stiffened under their hands; he obviously would have pulled away if he could have.  “You’re here because I…remember.” 

Hoshi had figured out what he meant before Malcolm and Travis had, and horror had given her back her voice.  “No!” she’d cried, startling him.  She’d taken his face in her hands and forced him to look her in the eye.  “No, Trip.  We aren’t here because of Sim – he was _you_ , those memories are yours too.  We just didn’t know…that you were still in there.  We thought we’d lost you.” 

Trip had looked at her for a long, searching moment, and then nodded.  “Well, you did just bury me two weeks ago,” he’d managed. 

“You should know, you were standing beside the pod,” Malcolm had said, as though just realizing it himself.  The grip on Trip’s shoulder became a one-armed hug.  “God, Trip, we’re so sorry.  We were all so much in shock after everything that happened, and then Phlox wouldn’t tell anyone anything and the rumor mill…well, you can just imagine the stories that have been flying around.  But it was still inexcusable, completely.” 

Trip had given him a look.  “I can excuse it,” he’d said, reaching up to grasp the armory officer’s arm in a tight, almost desperate grip.  “You’re…you’re here now.  Right?”

There had been just enough uncertainty still in the question to dissolve them all, and they’d ended up enfolding him in a reassuring and eventually very wet group hug.  And once he’d calmed down – once they’d all calmed down – Trip had told them his story. 

And what a story it had been.  And Hoshi was positive he hadn’t even told them all of it. 

After they’d finally left the engineer, sleeping soundly under a blanket they’d tucked in around him with Porthos once again curled up against his chest, Hoshi had gone up to the bridge to check some communications logs  and Malcolm had taken Travis with him to the armory.  They’d all met up in the mess a few hours later, the communications officer in shock and the armory officer so furious he looked like he was about to explode, and Travis had been somewhere in between, angry and horrified all at once.  He and Malcolm had been going through security tapes, and what they’d had to tell Hoshi about the scene that had played out just hours earlier in the shuttlebay had chilled her.  In return she’d been able to tell them that Phlox hadn’t spoken to Trip directly since the funeral – which was the same day he’d all but thrown the engineer out of Sickbay, still dazed and dizzy and suffering from blurred double vision and a great deal of honest confusion. 

She’d found a single message sent to Trip from Phlox, a short and impersonal note sent to the engineer’s personal terminal telling him he would be off duty for two days and to contact Sickbay if he experienced any serious problems.  No pain medication had been prescribed for the pounding, persistent headache, no physical therapy scheduled to bring back muscles weak from two weeks of comatose limpness, and no counseling had been offered to help the engineer come to terms with what had happened…or what had been done to save him.  Phlox hadn’t so much as checked on Trip over the past two weeks, much less done anything to help him. 

Hoshi didn’t want to think about what Archer had done.  She had to sit on the bridge with him every day, after all – and her self-control wasn’t what Malcolm’s was.  Travis didn’t often speak on the bridge anyway and only rarely had to answer to anything, so he was having an easier time of it.  Hoshi didn’t think Archer had noticed that his navigator hadn’t been able to look at him for a while. 

But then, it had been a while since Archer had noticed much of anything, except the Xindi.  A year ago Hoshi would never have believed her captain would sacrifice his crew, or neglect his dog, or turn away from his best friend, all in the name of a mission.  It was an important mission, she knew that…but what good did it do them to save humanity if in doing so they threw away the most important parts of what they were supposed to be saving? 

The clatter of silverware drew her back out of her gloomy thoughts, and she saw that Trip had finished eating and was trying to fend off the cup of cocoa that Malcolm and Travis were pushing on him.  “Guys, come on…” 

“Drink it,” Travis ordered him.  “See, it’s got marshmallows and everything – and I had to beg Chef to get those, so don’t let them go to waste.” 

Hoshi smothered a grin.  Travis wouldn’t have had to beg, at least not very hard.  They’d had a talk with Chef about fattening Trip back up, and he’d been a willing accomplice ever since.  No one had bothered to tell Trip that, though; he was a more cooperative eater if he thought his friends had put themselves to some trouble getting Chef to make his favorite foods.  And gratitude made him more cooperative in other areas as well.  “You’ll need the extra energy for your workout, too,” she reminded the engineer with a wink.  “Malcolm’s been…antsy today.” 

Reed drew himself up to his full height in mock offence.  “ _Antsy_?” he demanded.  “Is that any way to talk about a superior officer, Ensign?  I could have you clapped in irons for cheek like that.” 

“We don’t have any irons,” Hoshi pointed out.  “Unless you have a set in your quarters, that is.” 

“I might at that,” Malcolm told her with a wicked grin.  “But how I amuse myself off duty is none of your business, now is it?”  Trip almost snorted cocoa out his nose at that, and the armory officer patted his shoulder.  “Easy does it now.  See what you’ve done, Hoshi?” 

“She’s not the one talking about the kinks in her sex life at the table,” Travis reminded him, grinning when Trip choked again.  “Too much information?”

“Way too much,” Trip managed, but he was smiling.  Hoshi smiled too, as did Malcolm and Travis; it was good to see that familiar smile, even if it wasn’t as bright as it once had been.  “But can’t we skip the exercise tonight?  I’m feelin’ kind of tired.” 

Smiles vanished.  “Still having trouble sleeping?” Malcolm inquired delicately.  They knew he was, of course, there just wasn’t anything they could do about it.  The only thing that had helped Trip’s persistent insomnia was Vulcan neuropressure, and that…was no longer an option.  “Perhaps I should drive you a bit harder in our workouts, wear you out for the night?” 

Trip gave him a faint smile.  “I suppose it’s worth a try.”  He sipped at his cocoa and sighed.  “I guess I’m just tired of bein’ tired, that’s all.” 

“It won’t be for too much longer,” Travis tried to reassure him.  “You just have to give yourself time to get back up to speed.” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”  Trip sighed.  “Just impatient – like I said, I’m tired of bein’ tired.” 

“Don’t blame you a bit,” Malcolm commiserated.  “But Travis is right, you are coming right along.  Now while you’re finishing that sugary concoction you Americans pass off as a proper cup of chocolate, why don’t you tell me what the repair schedule is looking like.” 

Hoshi picked up her cup of tea and started finishing it, knowing that as soon as the repair schedule had been discussed it would be time to head for the gym and Trip’s physical therapy session that they’d been very careful not to refer to as anything but a ‘workout’.  She repressed a shiver, and not because the tea had gotten cold; the first time they’d taken Trip to the gym, they’d made the mistake of trying to get him to lie down on the mat to stretch.  He’d started out all right, but then suddenly he’d sat up and curled in on himself, a look on his face so lost and hurt that Hoshi had actually winced.  She’d managed to get enough out of him between sobs to know that it had reminded him of his sessions with T’Pol, and later that night before she’d gone to bed she’d done a little research into Vulcan neuropressure techniques. 

She’d been feeling slightly sorry for T’Pol before that, but afterwards…well, Hoshi found herself having the same problem working with T’Pol that she knew Malcolm was having when it came to Archer.  Hoshi hadn’t told Malcolm and Travis about it yet, wasn’t sure how they’d react to hearing that T’Pol had taken advantage of Trip’s vulnerability in order to seduce him – she’d checked, Vulcan neuropressure didn’t and never had involved half-naked people lying on the floor touching each other in a candlelit room.  It had worked, of course; Trip wore his heart on his sleeve at the best of times, he’d never had a chance. 

And now T’Pol broke his heart all over again every time she spoke to him in that cold, heartless voice – when she deigned to speak to him at all, that was.  Hoshi knew the Vulcan must be hurting too, but it was still unforgivably cruel to treat Trip that way after everything he’d already been through.  And so she’d decided that letting it continue wasn’t an option. 

T’Pol was sitting alone off at a corner table, picking over her food, keeping her eyes down.  Hoshi took her time getting rid of her tray, lagging behind the three men as they left the mess hall still talking about repairs and then detouring just slightly to pause beside the Vulcan’s table.  She didn’t give T’Pol time to say anything.  “He remembers, you know,” the linguist murmured accusingly, and had the satisfaction of seeing a faint expression of shock – and was that guilt? – flicker across the cold face.  Hoshi wasn’t sure exactly what clone-memories Trip had about T’Pol because he wouldn’t tell her, but she was pretty sure whichever ones were most relevant were the ones the Vulcan would think she was talking about.  “I didn’t think you could be so cruel.” 

“I…did not know.”  T’Pol looked shaken.  “Dr. Phlox has not said…” 

“The doctor hasn’t seen him since the funeral,” Hoshi cut her off, softly but sharply.  “He’s been on his own since then, we only found out by accident.  We’re taking care of him now.” 

The hand that grabbed her arm stopped Hoshi from walking away, and she was surprised by the desperation – not to mention the faint trembling – that she could feel in that powerful grip.  “Is he…sleeping?”  

It was almost a whisper, and dripping with emotion. “What do you think?” Hoshi returned, not meanly, and then she extracted her arm from T’Pol’s hold and walked away, out of the mess hall.  She didn’t allow herself to smile until she was well away.  T’Pol’s reaction had been everything she’d hoped to see and hadn’t thought she would.  Maybe, just maybe, something good could come out of this nightmare after all.


	4. Illogical Behavior

T’Pol hadn’t been able to finish her dinner.  Not that she had been very hungry to begin with; she hadn’t much felt like eating in weeks.  She told herself that was because of the uncertainty of the ship’s status and the large number of repairs which they did not have adequate time or facilities to complete. 

She also admitted to herself that denial was apparently not solely the province of humans. 

The Vulcan eventually gave up on finishing her meal and went back to her quarters.  She tried to meditate, failed, and set about doing other things in an attempt to calm herself.  She took a bath, lingering much longer under the spray than was necessary, and then readied herself for bed.  She checked her messages and decided on a suitable reason to avoid having breakfast with the captain – other than the truth, which was that beginning her day with him had a tendency to reduce her efficiency.  Much better to encounter him in the evenings, when she could meditate away the effects of spending time in his company.  Although there had been other, more pleasant ways she had preferred to spend her evenings as well.  But that had been before.  

Before the explosion in engineering.  Before the life of one had been given up to save the lives of many.  Before she very illogically had started to feel like her world had ended. 

But Ensign Sato had said he remembered… 

T’Pol tried to meditate again, but still could not achieve the necessary mental state required.  She opened her eyes to the dimmed light and they fell on her candles sitting across the room, unlit.  She hadn’t lit the candles in weeks, the sight of them was disturbing to her; she hadn’t touched them in some time either, because the feel of the smooth, cool wax triggered a sense memory that she was not comfortable with.  Charles Tucker had a scar resulting from a long-ago plasma burn, a small irregularly-shaped patch of waxy hairless skin that felt so strange when her fingers would encounter it.  The rest of his skin was so soft, with such a pleasant texture, and always slightly cool to her touch due to the difference in their body temperatures.  And the skin on the soles of his feet was incredibly sensitive – ticklish, he called it, where a too-light touch would make him laugh and squirm and repeated stimulation would reduce him to incoherency.  He had similar sensitive spots on his ribcage, but she had not had opportunity to explore the ones at the backs of his knees to see if the intensity of nerve reaction was the same. 

She had not thought to have the opportunity again, ever.  But he was in his quarters right now, unable to sleep.  His friends were obviously seeing that he ate, were making him exercise…but they could not help him sleep.  Only T’Pol could do that.  

Charles Tucker needed her. 

T’Pol was out of her quarters and headed to his, a robe thrown over her sleepwear and a candle clutched in her hand, before she had time to stop and consider how illogically she was behaving.  It wasn’t until she was standing outside his door that it occurred to her he might not be glad to see her, and she faltered in the act of pressing the buzzer.  Ensign Sato had been correct, her behavior toward Charles had been cruel in the extreme over the past weeks – especially if he truly had retained the clone’s memories.  Of course, what he might be remembering could present another problem... 

She meant to pull her hand away and ended up pushing the button instead, and it was only a moment before the door slid open and she was face to face with her fear.  He blinked at her, his expression one of intermingled confusion and concern.  “T’P…I mean, Sub-Commander?  Is somethin’ the matter?” 

It hurt him to call her by her rank, she saw.  “Perhaps,” she answered.  “I would prefer not to discuss it in the corridor, however.” 

“Oh, sorry.”  He stepped away from the door to let her enter, but seemed nervous once the door had closed again.  “What did you need?” 

T’Pol didn’t answer immediately, just looked at him.  He had lost weight, she saw, and some muscle mass as well.  His hair was tousled and still damp from a recent shower, and her sensitive nose could easily detect the scent of the soap he preferred to use.  He was fidgeting slightly under her scrutiny, obviously not sure what to do with himself and afraid to relax in her presence.  As a matter of fact, his behavior was very similar to the first time he had come to her quarters for a neuropressure treatment… 

If T’Pol had been human, she would have smiled.  She suddenly knew exactly how to ‘break the ice’, as humans would put it; she had broken this ice with Charles Tucker before, it was only logical to assume that the same approach would once again be effective.  “You have not been sleeping,” she observed calmly. 

He shrugged, but stiffened slightly.  “I’m okay.” 

“You do not look ‘okay’,” she reprimanded.  “In order to perform your duties effectively, you must get adequate rest.  You are no good to anyone if you don’t sleep.” 

To her surprise, he flinched.  “Oh,” he said softly.  He turned away from her, crossing the small space to sit on the side of his bed.  “I’ll…take care of it, Sub-Commander,” he said tonelessly, not looking up at her.  “If it keeps on, I’ll go get a shot for it.” 

Something was not right here, not right at all; T’Pol had expected some surprise for her concern and then polite gratitude for the same, but instead her words had pained him for reasons she could not comprehend.  She crossed the room to stand in front of Trip, knowing her proximity would cause him to look up.  When he did, she was shocked by the dark emotions roiling in his eyes.  “You know you cannot take the doctor’s drugs over the long term without lasting effects,” she said gently, not questioning but still inviting him to answer. 

He flinched and looked away again.  “Should see me through until the mission is finished, that’s all that matters.”  His voice was flat, dead.  “Repercussions down the line don’t matter now, so you don’t have to…put yourself out over it.  I’ll do what I’m here to do, you have my word.” 

Had Trip been looking, he would have seen her frown.  But the frown was still there when she very deliberately sat down in front of him, so he got to see it anyway and was apparently confused by it even more.  T’Pol shook her head at him.  “That does not make sense.  After this mission, there will be others – or if it is not your choice to remain in Starfleet, there will be whatever life you choose for yourself at that time.  So what happens to you now most certainly should matter.” 

“ _After_?”  Trip actually drew back from her.  “The only reason I’m here is so the mission can get completed.”  His chin  lifted, a show of spirit that would have been encouraging if not for the bleakness of his expression.  “I agreed to that, and I’ll keep my word.  But once we’ve stopped the Xindi, I can’t…”  He closed his eyes, and shuddered.  “That’s all I owe, no more.” 

T’Pol’s eyes widened.  Vulcan’s didn’t have a word for suicide, but she understood the concept.  What could possibly make this man think that his life had no value once the mission was over…and then she realized that she knew exactly what.  Or rather, who.  Captain Archer had been extremely vocal about the reason for his decision to save the engineer; trying to convince himself, she’d thought at the time, and apparently he’d been successful convincing someone else as well.  She was positive Archer had had words with the clone on the subject, words he’d thought he was speaking to a dead man, arguing with him about the necessity of giving up his life. 

The dead man hadn’t died, but he was still convinced.  And it could not be allowed to continue, it was…an obscenity.  She would have to make him see that.  T’Pol took his face in her hands and ordered, “Charles, look at me.” 

He shuddered again, but obeyed.  “T’Pol…” 

“Shhh, you must listen to me,” she told him, although she was pleased that he had used her name and not her rank.  “You are correct that this mission cannot be completed without you, and that the captain justified the use of such…drastic measures to save you for that reason.”  A tightening of her grip kept him from closing his eyes again.  “But that does not mean your life has no value beyond the reason it was saved, or that you as a person have no value because you sacrificed yourself for the good of the many.”  He started, and she raised an eyebrow.  “The memories are yours, therefore the life was as well.  Had I known your essence would not be lost, I would not have been so firmly against the procedure.” 

His hands were suddenly, and almost painfully, gripping her wrists, a terrible hope flooding his face.  “You were against it?  You didn’t want them to…” 

“No,” T’Pol assured him, careful not to look away from his desperate blue eyes.  “I did not approve, and not only because the cloning process is forbidden.  And I knew you would not approve either.” 

“I…I don’t.”  He released her more gently than he’d latched on, fingers lingering on her wrists as though in apology for their prior roughness.  “Thank you for…for knowin’ that.  And for objectin’ to it bein’ done.”  He swallowed.  “Means a lot to me.”

“You are important to me,” she told him gravely, allowing one hand to slip around to the back of his neck, finding the nerve points there and applying gentle pressure.  The barest hint of a smile graced T’Pol’s lips when he tipped his head back into her touch with a faint, relieved moan.  She increased the pressure, and moved her other hand around on the other side to find the points there.  “And you are most welcome.  I am…sorry I did not come to you sooner.” 

“You didn’t know.”  Trip sighed.  “Hell, for a while I thought I was dead too.” 

“I am very glad you are not.”  T’Pol was pleased when he smiled at that, although he didn’t say anything.  She continued to gently work the pressure points in his neck and at the base of his skull until she hit a spot that made him stiffen and cry out in pain.  Quickly she made him lay back on his pillow, keeping her hand on the back of his head.  Nothing she was doing should have hurt him, she was sure of that.  If he hadn’t been fully healed it might be a different story… 

T’Pol suddenly felt cold.  Ensign Sato had said Dr. Phlox hadn’t seen Charles since the funeral.  Which had been the same day the engineer had awakened from his coma, and only a day after having had major intracranial surgery.  Surely the doctor hadn’t…she adjusted the head she was holding on the pillow and carefully slid her hand out of it’s protective position, trailing her fingers across his cheek.  “Charles, have you been suffering from headaches?” 

He didn’t quite nod.  “Yeah,” he admitted.  “Dizzy too, sometimes.  Nothin’ I can’t handle, though.” 

“Of course not,” she agreed, finding different, safer points to apply pressure to and working them gently until he relaxed.  “You should sleep now.”  His eyes blinked open, the request he would not voice plain for her to see; he didn’t want her to leave.  T’Pol looked at him seriously for a long moment, then leaned forward to place a tender, chaste kiss on his lips.  “I remember as well,” she told him, this time allowing him to see the smile.  It was just for him, a gift she knew he would recognize and appreciate.  “Go to sleep, Charles.  I will return in the morning.” 

A nod, and his eyes closed again.  T’Pol stayed beside him, rubbing his temples until she was certain he was fully asleep, and then she pulled up the blanket around him.  It was while she was tucking it in that she noticed the captain’s dog lying in its basket in the corner, watching her.  She looked from dog to sleeping engineer and back, and then decided its presence was unimportant; the chances of Captain Archer in his current mental state coming after the stolen animal were slim, and she seriously doubted he would ever even mention how Tucker had come to be in possession of the little dog if asked.  Charles would doubtless take better care of the animal anyway. 

T’Pol set the candle she’d brought on the desk where Charles would see it when he awakened and then matter-of-factly flipped on his terminal and pulled up his message logs.  There were very few for the time period she was interested in, which was disturbing to her but made it easy to spot the single message from Dr. Phlox.  Dated the day of the clone’s funeral, it contained a short, impersonal reminder that Charles was to have the next day off and that he should contact Phlox if he had any serious problems.  No advice, no instructions, no offer of painkillers if needed or scheduled appointments for counseling…T’Pol could not believe Phlox’ guilt and shame had drive him to such unprofessional behavior.  She backed out of Trip’s message folder and shut the terminal down again,  checked once more to be sure he was asleep, and then let herself out .  She would be back in the morning.  And the morning after that, and the morning after that.


	5. Healing Hurts

Travis walked down the corridor leading to Sickbay, humming under his breath.  He was in a good mood today, and where he was headed had a lot to do with that.  ‘An unexpected frontal assault’ was what Lieutenant Reed had called it, with a chuckle that said he approved and meant a heck of a lot to Travis Mayweather.  Reed was one of those people whose approval was worth shooting for because he didn’t give it lightly.  It was easier to tick him off, even though he wasn’t the kind of man who gave in easily to his temper either – you had to push him pretty hard to make him explode. 

Travis thought he felt a little sorry for the captain in that area – just a little.  Archer was about one more push from the Wrath of Reed, rank or no rank.  And for Reed to be pushed hard enough to disregard rank, that was saying something.  Travis was really hoping he’d be around to see it when it happened.  He didn’t think it was disloyal to feel that way, not really; this was a situation that ‘transcended insubordination’, as Reed put it, because the situation was such that the captain couldn’t charge anyone with insubordination without implicating himself for something worse.  Travis wasn’t really sure he understood that, but Reed did and Reed was the one who needed to rely on it being right so Travis wasn’t going to worry about it too much. 

Dealing with Dr. Phlox was going to be much simpler.  Travis didn’t have to lie, or sneak, or be insubordinate; all he had to do was walk into Sickbay with his list and start getting together the things that were on it, very casually.  The doctor’s curiosity would take care of the rest.  And hopefully, that would take care of Trip’s problem as well. 

Not that they weren’t already taking care of Trip, of course.  The navigator’s smile widened slightly.  Some of them more than others, maybe.

He’d gone to Trip’s quarters earlier that morning to make sure the engineer went to breakfast and to check the first aid box, and had gotten the surprise of his life; Sub-Commander T’Pol had been there, performing what he could only guess was the Vulcan neuropressure technique that he’d heard so much about.  But contrary to what he’d gathered from Hoshi’s grumbles and Lieutenant Reed’s innuendos, it didn’t look like something Tucker was enjoying too much.  In fact, it had looked kind of like she was hurting him.  Trip had apparently read what Travis was thinking from his expression, though, and had been quick to reassure him.  “Pressure points,” he’d explained, a little breathlessly.  He’d been sitting in his desk chair, fully dressed, the Vulcan standing behind him with her hands busy at the back of his neck, down inside the collar of his uniform.  “She thinks she can stop me gettin’ another headache today, but this is the advanced stuff and it – Ow! Now you did that on purpose – it’s kind of uncomfortable.” 

“Painful,” T’Pol had corrected him, and Travis had been startled to see something like concern and maybe even a touch of guilt flicker across her usually impassive features.  “If you would allow me to use the other pressure point there would be much less discomfort involved.” 

“Uh, no.”  Trip had suddenly looked embarrassed, tipping back his head so he could look up at her.  “I don’t think I’m…uh, ready to go there just now, if you know what I mean.” 

“I do,” she’d responded.  And there it had been again, another barely-there flicker of emotion – understanding?  Affection?  Travis hadn’t been sure.  “I am being careful, but some pain is inevitable.” 

Trip had nodded.  “Rather have it from you now than from gettin’ burned later,” he’d answered tiredly, blinking up at her a moment longer before returning his attention to the watching navigator.  “You don’t have to wait for me, Travis.” 

“I don’t mind.”  Travis had settled himself on the side of Trip’s bed and accepted the lapful of happy dog that was part of sitting down in Trip’s quarters these days.  “Maybe if you don’t get dizzy halfway through your shift you won’t burn yourself so much.” 

It had been a tease, but Trip had flinched anyway and T’Pol’s hands had stilled at the base of his skull.  The engineer had sighed.  “Would be nice, yeah.”

“Soon,” T’Pol had assured him quietly.  She’d pressed one more spot that made him gasp and then withdrew her hands and, to Travis’ surprise, had straightened Trip’s uniform collar into neatness before moving away.  “I am due on the bridge shortly.  You will come to my quarters tonight for your regular neuropressure session – you have missed far too many of them.” 

Trip had smiled, just slightly, and met her eyes.  “I think we both had…other stuff on our minds for a while.” 

T’Pol had nodded.  “Indeed.”  

Travis had thought she looked relieved, but again he couldn’t be certain because he wasn’t sure how to interpret a Vulcan show of emotion – heck, he had never expected to _see_ a Vulcan show of emotion, unless  is was anger.  T’Pol had taken her leave of them after that, and Trip had come to breakfast after seeing that Porthos had everything he’d need for the duration of the day’s shift.  They hadn’t talked about T’Pol or the neuropressure, even though Travis was dying to ask; instead Trip had wanted to know about which systems had overloaded and in what order when the shuttlepod Travis was piloting had tried to tow Enterprise all those weeks ago.  A redesign of the pods’ power systems was apparently in the works.  “It was too close that time,” Trip had told him seriously.  “We keep usin’ the shuttles for stuff like this, stuff they aren’t designed for, and sooner or later we’re gonna run out of luck.” 

Travis was privately of the opinion that one of them already had, but he wasn’t going to share that thought.  He and Hoshi and Malcolm – and now, maybe, T’Pol – would see to it that nothing else happened to Trip for a while.  And if this plan worked, hopefully they’d have Phlox helping them again too. 

Hopefully, for Trip’s sake.  Because after three weeks the engineer shouldn’t still be having dizzy spells, should he?  And they all knew that the headaches were much worse than Tucker was letting on, he had a feeling even T’Pol had figured it out.  That was why Travis was here now, at Sickbay, getting ready to pull his very best innocent act on Phlox. 

It was going to work, too – the only person it didn’t work on was his mother.  Well, and Hoshi.  Everyone else fell for it, though. 

Sickbay looked deserted, the only signs of life the small rustlings made by Phlox’ menagerie of creatures in their cages, but Travis knew the doctor was there and just not showing himself.  Come to think of it, Phlox had been hiding from the crew ever since…well, since before the funeral.  The navigator grimaced.  Someone should have noticed that sooner too.  Maybe today’s little ‘frontal assault’ would benefit more than just Trip. 

Travis walked straight through Sickbay to the cupboards where the first aid supplies were kept and started pulling out the items on his list, muttering not quite under his breath as he did.  “Okay there’s that, and more burn gel – a lot more burn gel, what the heck is he thinking, only two tubes?  That won’t last the week, five maybe…” 

Footsteps behind him, very close, and a sudden voice over his shoulder that sounded much less confident than Travis was used to hearing it.  “Ensign Mayweather, what are you doing?” 

Travis smiled.  _Here we go_...  “I’m just refilling Commander Tucker’s first aid box for him, sir,” he answered pleasantly, glancing back but not turning around or stopping what he was doing.  “He was running kind of late this morning, I told him I’d take care of it.” 

“Commander Tucker’s…”  Phlox circled around him to take a better look at the small pile of supplies, then picked up the padd and frowned at the list.  “Is this for the engineering department?” 

“Oh no, it’s for him.”  Travis said, fighting the urge to grin; this was too easy.  “He’s been having a lot of little accidents on duty lately, he keeps burning himself.”  He held up one of the tubes of burn gel, the special kind used for plasma burns.  “He ran out.” 

Phlox took the tube from his hand, looking unhappy.  “Did he…did he happen to say why he had been so accident prone of late, Ensign?” 

Travis shrugged, keeping the gesture nonchalant, and pulled another package out of the cupboard to gesture with.  “I think it’s because he starts getting dizzy when the painkillers wear off and his headache comes back,” he said.  “He said he has it under control.” 

“Obviously not.”  It wasn’t the dryly sarcastic remark the doctor would usually have come out with, it sounded more guilty than anything.  Phlox took the package of painkillers away from Travis too, then picked up the padd and scanned the list.  “I don’t suppose you…happen to know how many of these he’s been taking, do you?” 

Travis shrugged again.  “I really don’t know, sir.  He says the headaches are getting better…but I think maybe he’s just getting used to them.”  He didn’t have to feign the concern in his look.  “Is that bad?” 

Phlox’ pale blue eyes stared into his for a moment and then dropped again to the medicines in his hands – hands Travis suddenly noticed were shaking.  “It isn’t good,” the doctor murmured distractedly.  He looked back up when Travis touched his shoulder.  “Ensign?”

“It’s okay, Doctor Phlox,” Travis told him gently.  He didn’t want to make the Denobulan feel any worse than he already was, that wouldn’t help anyone.  “Trip understands, we all do.”  He squeezed the shoulder under his hand gently.  “He says you were a really good father to him.” 

“I did my best.  I must admit, it was pleasant to have…”  The doctor stopped mid-sentence and pierced Travis with a sharp look.  “Wait, he told you this…recently?” 

“About a week ago, yeah.”  The doctor dropped what he was holding and took a step back, and Travis was immediately concerned.  “Doc…” 

“I should have guessed,” Phlox all but whispered.  “After what happened, the way the clone retained his memories…I should have thought.”  He closed his eyes, shutting the pain inside, refusing to share it.  “This has been a nightmare, one error after another.” 

“It’s been a nightmare for Trip too,” Travis informed him.  “But he doesn’t blame _you_ for that.” 

Phlox just shook his head.  “How much does he…” 

“Remember?”  Travis was really feeling sorry for the doctor now; the Denobulan couldn’t even meet his eyes to ask the question.  “All of it, I think.  He told us it took him a while to sort all the memories out – me, Hoshi and Lieutenant Reed,” he answered the sudden questioning look.  “Before Hoshi figured out that he was still himself, we thought…”  Travis swallowed the ball of guilt that rose in his own throat for the two weeks of isolation Trip had gone through while they’d avoided him.  “We thought the brain damage had been permanent, everyone did.  You and the captain and the sub-commander were acting like the person he’d been was gone, like it hurt you to even be around him.” 

“It did – it does,” Phlox admitted with a sigh.  “But the damage was all repaired, I assure you.  I should have anticipated that there would be questions regarding that among the crew, however.  Was it…”  This time he did look Travis in the eye.  “How bad was it?” 

“He thought he was dead.”  Travis wasn’t going to lie.  “Or at least, he thought he was dead to all of us.  Going to the funeral really messed him up.”  Phlox just nodded, evidently agreeing, and the expression that flickered briefly across his face told Travis that Trip going to his clone’s funeral might not have been the doctor’s idea.  “I think he was planning to kill himself, when the mission was over, even though he didn’t come right out and tell us that.” 

Pale blue eyes sharpened, narrowed.  “And now?”

“He’s doing a lot better,” the navigator assured him.  “We’re making sure he eats and works out, he’d lost a lot of weight.  And I think it helps that he has Porthos to take care of now, too.” 

Phlox raised an eyebrow.  “The captain gave Commander Tucker his dog?” 

Uh oh.  “Um, not exactly, sir…” 

“Ah, I see.”  To his surprise, the doctor smiled slightly, waving away further explanation.  “The exact details are not important, Mr. Mayweather.  I believe the new…arrangement is probably in the best interests of all concerned.  And you are correct, caring for a dependant creature can be very…beneficial.” 

Travis was all sympathy.  “Was it ‘beneficial’ for you?” 

Another slight smile, tainted by sadness.  “Very.  He was a delightful child.” 

“He didn’t die,” Travis returned, grimacing when the doctor flinched; he hadn’t meant for it to just pop out like that.  But he really wasn’t sorry it had, either.  “He’s still there, sir, he remembers it all.  He didn’t die.” 

“No,” Phlox agreed, making a face of his own.  “No, he didn’t die.”  Pale blue eyes lifted.  “But that does not change the fact that I killed him.” 

“If you hadn’t killed him, he’d be dead,” Travis pointed out, and couldn’t help a small grin when Phlox looked at him like he’d lost his mind.  The navigator shrugged.  “Well, it’s true, right?” 

The Denobulan was silent for a long moment, staring at him in shock, and then he slowly nodded.  “Yes, I suppose it is.”  He straightened.  “Thank you, Mr. Mayweather, for providing that insight into the situation; I had not considered things in that light.” 

Travis shrugged.  “My mom says sometimes you need someone else to look at a problem before you can solve it,” he said.  He held up another tube of burn gel questioningly.  “Should I let you take care of this?” 

Phlox took it from him with another nod.  “Yes, you don’t need to concern yourself…”  He stopped, smiled.  “At least, you don’t need to concern yourself with restocking the commander’s first aid kit as he won’t be needing it any more.  I don’t doubt you will continue to concern yourself with his well-being, though.” 

“Nope,” Travis agreed.  He picked up his padd.  “I’d better get going, I’m due on duty in half an hour.”  He started to leave, then stopped and turned back.  “Oh, the sub-commander said Commander Tucker should be fine for most of his shift, she tried some advanced neuropressure on him this morning to try to get rid of his headache.” 

“Really?”  Phlox sounded surprised.  “How long has that been going on?” 

“This morning was the first time I know of.”  Travis shrugged again.  “She’s been avoiding him too.” 

“Yes, I’d expect so.”  The doctor seemed to be thinking about something, then he shook it off and started putting the supplies back in the cupboard.  “Thank you for your…assistance, Ensign, it was much appreciated.” 

“Sure thing, Doctor Phlox,” Travis told him, and left Sickbay even happier than he’d gone in.  Mission accomplished, now it was up to Phlox.  His smile almost immediately faltered a little; there was still the problem with the captain to be settled too…but that was up to Malcolm.  And Malcolm only needed one more little push. 

Thinking that that could very well happen today, even this morning, Travis started to hum again. 


	6. Familial Bonds

After Mayweather left, Phlox took his time putting the supply cabinet back in order and only stopped when it started to become ridiculous.  Then he went back to his office and pulled up the scans he’d spent so much time poring over already; impossible as it seemed, there had to be something he’d missed.  If only Commander Tucker had told him earlier that he was having problems… 

But of course, if he hadn’t been hiding in Sickbay all this time, wallowing in self-indulgent guilt, he might have noticed without being told.  Phlox snorted softly.  No, he couldn’t blame any of this on the commander, he wasn’t going to compound the mistakes he’d already made – he wasn’t going to make the same mistake he’d made with his other son. 

_His son_.   Phlox grimaced.  That, at least, he hadn’t been avoiding – he wouldn’t have been avoiding anything if he’d known the child he’d raised from a baby was still alive, that those memories had transferred and remained intact.  Denobulan social law was quite exacting as to the establishment of familial relationships, and by the rules of his own people Charles Tucker was to be considered his son.  The doctor shuddered.  Before this morning he’d been in a quandary over that same set of rules, as under Denobulan law there was no crime more heinous than killing one’s own child. 

But he apparently hadn’t done that…unless his negligence had allowed a minor problem to reach fatal proportions.  He could only hope it hadn’t, could only hope he wouldn’t see disaster waiting to happen in the weeks-old scans and data.  

An hour later, Phlox had narrowed down the possibilities to three areas and felt better but no less irritated with himself as he tapped over the displayed scans with his stylus.  It could be a small abscess, pushing on a nerve cluster just _there_ and easily dealt with without needing to resort to surgery, or it could be a slight tissue incompatibility _here_ , which would be a little trickier to correct but still not too serious…or it could be an infection causing tissue rejection _there_ , which would be very serious indeed and would not only see Tucker back in surgery but also back in his bed in Sickbay and off duty for quite some time while the damage was repaired.  If it could be repaired at all.

Phlox didn’t want to think about that.  He really doubted the last one was the problem, but as a physician he had to consider every possibility whether it upset him or not.  Not to mention whether it implicated him in negligent homicide or not.  He sighed and twisted the stylus in his fingers.  Once this problem was fixed, he was also going to have to do something about the data – he himself would be, at worst, exiled were the details about the mimetic symbiot’s birth and death to become known, but Tucker would be facing a much more brutal fate.  The Vulcans supported the cloning ban, and Phlox had no doubt they would insist that Starfleet hand the engineer over to be painfully and publicly executed by its originators even though the man had had no part in the decision to use the cloned tissue.  The doctor sighed.  He would just have to see to it that the facts never got out, for both of their sakes.  The spatial distortions in the Expanse were wreaking regular havoc with the ship, after all, so it was only to be expected that not all the records of their time here would remain intact.  Phlox thought he might have a word with Lieutenant Reed about that later, he had a feeling the armory officer would know how to…protect his data.  Yes, that should take care of things quite nicely. 

Now he just had to take care of that data’s source.  There was no more putting it off.  Phlox activated the comm unit on his desk and contacted Main Engineering.  “Dr. Phlox to Commander Tucker.”

A pause, long enough that he was about to announce himself again before the engineer’s voice answered him.  “Tucker here.”

Phlox winced; even over the comm system, he could hear a tremor in the words.  They’d have to deal with that face to face, however.  “Commander, I need to see you in Sickbay at once.” 

This time the pause was not so long, but the tremor was more pronounced.  “Oh…okay.”  A deep breath.  “A-about how long do you think it will take?” 

Phlox wished he knew.  He also wished he could lie about not knowing.  “I am not sure, Commander.  Is there something going on which requires your continued attention today?” 

“N-no.  They can…can do without me for a while.  I’ll just brief Rostov to take over for me an’ then I’ll be down, Tucker out.” 

The connection clicked off almost before the engineer had stopped speaking, and Phlox winced again and rubbed a weary hand across his face.  Oh what a mess he had made of this, what a terrible, terrible mess.  He transferred the data he’d been working with out to the main scanner and then stood up to leave the secure haven of his office, feeling old.  It seemed only yesterday that this new son of his was a babe in arms, their relationship so simple, so trusting… 

But that had been six weeks ago.  Things weren’t so simple now, and that trust might not be easy to regain in light of recent events.  Recent events that were the fault of the father’s useless guilt, not the son’s understandable fear.  Phlox steeled himself against the coming confrontation.  He would not make the same mistakes he had in the past.  He would not give up on _this_ son, no matter how long it took to reach him. 

Although if what Mr. Mayweather had said was true, Phlox had hopes that it might not take very long at all as Tucker had apparently already forgiven him for his avoidance, leaving fear the only barrier between them.  And he had no reason not to believe the ensign, even if the young man had come to Sickbay with intent to manipulate him. The doctor smiled to himself, it was good to know that his son had such friends. 

His smile just as quickly dropped away into a frown, almost a scowl.  He did not think the captain could rightly be placed in that category any more.  Phlox would, as Tucker would put it, ‘bet his life’ that Archer had known about the end-of-mission suicide plan.  When he’d sent the captain to talk to Tucker several weeks back, hoping being forced into contact outside of duty would mend part of the rift between them, no doubt Archer had become aware of the engineer’s plan then.  And he hadn’t said a word, nor to Phlox’ knowledge had he spoken to Tucker again since. 

Phlox the chief medical officer made a mental note to study the situation later, it being something that could negatively impact the ship and crew.  Phlox the father also pushed the issue aside to be looked at later, but with an eye toward making sure Archer stayed away from his sensitive, vulnerable son.  Charles Tucker had family on board to look out for him now, the captain would not be allowed to hurt him again.


	7. Confrontation

Captain Archer didn’t notice when his communications officer stiffened at her post on the bridge, but Lieutenant Reed did.  He raised an eyebrow and she tapped her console with one finger in an irregular pattern that no one else would have remarked on.  Malcolm smiled; Travis had been successful in his mission, then, if Phlox was calling Commander Tucker to Sickbay.  He casually moved his hand so she could see it and tapped a message back.  Travis had sent word of his morning’s adventures to both he and Hoshi, it was only right that they include the sub-commander in things now. 

Hoshi tapped back an affirmative and then turned slightly so she could look back at the science station where the Vulcan was sitting.  “Sub-Commander, Dr. Phlox just called Engineering.”  There was no way anyone was going to say Commander Tucker’s name on the bridge, the captain was in a bad enough mood as it was. 

“Thank you, Ensign,” T’Pol responded, and immediately stood up.  “Crewman Ennis, please take over Communications.  Ensign Sato, come with me.” 

Travis had been right about T’Pol and Trip, then – there was more going on there than any of them had suspected.  Malcolm was afraid Hoshi might hurt herself holding back her grin, trying to maintain her façade of nonchalance as she crossed right in front of their startled captain in T’Pol’s wake.  And T’Pol didn’t so much as spare Archer a glance, which besides being a tremendous breach of protocol was also a fairly obvious snub.  Malcolm restrained his own smirk.  He would have to make an opportunity to speak with the sub-commander about the situation, some time when she wasn’t busy with Trip or hiding from Archer.  It hadn’t gone unnoticed that the Vulcan avoided the captain’s company on a regular basis.  Or at least, it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Malcolm, but then it was his job to notice things and that one had been fairly obvious.  He thought even Archer might have seen it. 

As much as Archer noticed anything these days, that was.  That was something else he needed to speak to T’Pol about, now that he had a better idea of where her loyalties lay.  This time the smirk did escape, as a faint twitch at one corner of his mouth and a brief shine in his eyes.  His father would be so proud, knowing his son was a budding mutineer.  Malcolm thought he might just have to tell him all about it sometime, perhaps when his father was in full rant over him not joining the Royal Navy.  Yes, that would be ideal; the look on Stewart Reed’s face would be perfectly delightful. 

He’d have to make sure his mother wasn’t around, though. 

T’Pol stopped in front of Tactical, blocking the captain’s view of Malcolm.  “Lieutenant Reed?”  

Her tone by itself conveyed the invitation she was issuing perfectly, but at the same time her hand, resting casually on the top of his console, was tapping out the words she wasn’t saying.  Malcolm had thought she might have been aware of the Morse communication he and Hoshi used on the bridge and during briefings, but this was the first time she’d let him know she understood it.  The gesture said they were now allies, implied a new level of trust between them.  Oh yes, they were definitely going to have to have a talk in the near future.  “I will be joining you shortly, Sub-Commander,” he answered, inclining his head slightly in thanks.  “But first I have…things I have to take care of on the bridge.” 

Both of T’Pol’s eyebrows went up, but she nodded.  “Very well,” she replied, and then swept off the bridge with Hoshi trailing in her wake. 

Malcolm didn’t watch them go, just went back to what he’d been doing as though the encounter had been of no consequence at all.  He could feel the captain’s eyes on him, though, could sense the man’s anger growing.  _Good_ , he thought with some satisfaction, relishing the idea of a confrontation.  _It’s about bloody time you popped, you’ve kept me waiting, you bastard_.  He was more than ready to take Archer out at the knees, had been for some time, he just hadn’t been given the right opportunity.  _All right then, I think you’ve stared daggers at me long enough; let’s push the button, shall we?_   He looked up, straight into the captain’s growing glare, and inquired coolly, “Something I can help you with, Captain?” 

Had that been a growl?  Malcolm was secretly delighted to think it may have been, although he kept his features schooled into bored blandness.  Archer stood up abruptly, even violently.  “My ready room, Lieutenant.  _Now_ ,” he snapped, and then stalked across the bridge as though he were trying to crush something under his feet.  Malcolm rose gracefully from his own seat and followed, making sure to designate someone to take the captain’s place before he left the bridge himself, knowing his calmness would settle the agitated juniors currently on duty.  With luck, the captain would be settled as well when he came back out. 

Without luck…well, Malcolm hoped the situation wasn’t that far gone yet. 

Stepping into the ready room, seeing Archer waiting for him and obviously ready to start raving like a madman the moment the door was closed, Malcolm took up his customary position and adopted a stance that was not quite the same as standing at parade rest and certainly wasn’t the same as being at attention.  His voice was even, but not respectful.  “You wanted to speak to me, sir?” 

Archer’s expression couldn’t have been more satisfying if Malcolm had hit him with a stick.  He recovered quickly, though.  “I want to know just what the hell is going on!” he demanded.  “I’m sure T’Pol had a good reason for leaving the bridge…” 

“And so you decided to take out your frustrations on me since you couldn’t yell at her, I see,” Malcolm interrupted him.  “ _I_ remained at my post until you ordered me away from it – and since you neglected to do so, I designated someone to take command of the bridge when you stalked off to indulge your latest snit.  _Do_ try to pay attention to those things, sir; it’s the little details that matter, you know.” 

The older man went red in the face – almost purple, which Malcolm decided wasn’t really a good color for him – and his mouth opened and closed several times before anything came out.  “Why you insubordinate little…” 

“Hardly, sir.”  The interrupting was the key, Malcolm knew, it kept his opponent off balance and unprepared to block his assault.  It worked beautifully with his father, too.  “Insubordination is not possible in this situation, as such charges cannot be brought without implicating yourself for something worse.” 

This time the wordless flapping didn’t go on nearly so long.  “And what exactly would that be, Lieutenant?” 

Malcolm rolled his eyes.  “Oh please, even you aren’t that dense.”  He started ticking points off on his fingers.  “You gave the ship’s doctor the go-ahead to initiate a procedure which isn’t forbidden under Denobulan law but is by Starfleet by way of the Vulcans.  You  ordered a civilian to submit himself for a fatal medical procedure in order to save the life of a Starfleet officer.  You repeatedly asserted that a crewmember’s life was only worth saving if their skills were necessary to the mission at hand.  You allowed a civilian to assume the duties of a Starfleet officer but without any corresponding accord of privileges.  You were made aware of a suicide attempt and a further plan to commit suicide by one of your officers and not only failed to report it but tacitly condoned it.  And you failed to report a blatant theft which involved breaking and entering and misuse  of technical authority to ship’s security.”  He wiggled the extended fingers before folding them into a fist.  “I believe that’s quite enough, don’t you sir?” 

Archer sucked in a breath, although it didn’t appear to calm him and the shell-shocked look didn’t quite leave his face.  “You’re twisting the facts.  All of those incidents…” 

“Which you don’t deny you participated in.” 

Another deep breath.  “It wasn’t like that and you know it.” 

Malcolm snorted.  “Oh do I?  How would I know that, sir?  For that matter, how would anyone on board this ship know that?  You haven’t spoken about any of it to anyone, haven’t briefed your senior staff, haven’t attempted to fix any of the mess you made, and you certainly haven’t taken any steps to shield the principals involved from the consequences of your actions.”  He took a step forward, letting the edge in his voice harden and become even more cutting.  “You’ve been displaying behavior that clearly marks you as unfit for duty for some time now, Captain, and since we’ve come to the Expanse you’ve given me full double the evidence I require to initiate a command change action.” 

Archer’s eyes widened, then narrowed dangerously as he took a step forward of his own.  “Did you just threaten me with mutiny, Lieutenant?” 

“It wasn’t a threat.”  Malcolm was unimpressed by the glare and it showed.  “I am the only person on this ship empowered to initiate a command change action.  You can call it mutiny if you prefer, but that isn’t what Starfleet calls it and if you check the regulations you’ll see that the two actions are considered opposites.  Mutiny is an unauthorized conspiracy by posted crewmembers to take over control of their ship, while a command change action is the authorized prerogative of the chief security officer should the commanding officer provide sufficient documentable evidence that he is unfit for duty and/or a danger to his crew.” 

More flapping, then, “I’m going to look that up, you know.” 

“You should have done so long before now.”  Malcolm wasn’t giving him any ground, even if he did appear to be backing down slightly; a cornered animal is always the most dangerous.  “The regulations have always been there, it’s your duty to know them.” 

“Maybe.”  The anger came flooding back in a rush.  “But I shouldn’t have to expect my crew to be plotting against me!” 

“There is no plot, sir.” 

It was Archer’s turn to count on his fingers.  “You, T’Pol, Hoshi…” 

“Oh please, _Hoshi_?”  Malcolm rolled his eyes again.  “You’ll be suspecting  Mayweather next, or maybe Porthos.  And the sub-commander is only empowered to replace you in the event that Dr. Phlox declares you unfit for duty, or should you be incapacitated somehow.  She can’t initiate a command change action, only I can do that.” 

Archer got an ugly look on his face.  “All right then, Commander…” 

Malcolm was in his face so fast the older man almost fell away from him.  The armory officer’s gray eyes had turned to steel; playtime was over.  “Finish that accusation and I’ll flatten you where you stand,” he hissed.  “You’ll spend the rest of this mission pacing the brig like a zoo exhibit while the guards take bets on when you’ll crack.  Don’t think anyone will come to your defense; the crew are terrified of you, you’ve burned that bridge so thoroughly that I doubt it can ever be rebuilt.  And just so you know, your chief engineer personally nipped out the one really dangerous pocket of unrest that’s formed since we got out here.”  Malcolm backed away a step, restoring distance between them.  “That was before his accident, of course.  I’m rather surprised recent events didn’t form them back up, since he’s been in no fit state to defuse things again.” 

“Isn’t it _your_ job to defuse things?”  Archer’s sneer didn’t have much weight behind it, but Malcolm had to commend him for trying.  When Malcolm didn’t rise to the bait the captain tried again.  “And by the way, it was Phlox who first suggested making the clone.   You going to take him out too?” 

The armory officer smirked again, folding his arms across his chest.  “Nice try, but as I already said, the Denobulans don’t support the cloning ban so he was well within his authority.  You, however, were informed about the ban and the computer logs show you accessed the information pertaining to it before you authorized the procedure, which amounts to plotting the murder of a Starfleet officer when one considers the penalties involved.  The powers that be won’t care whether the commander was a willing participant in the procedure or not, the law clearly states that anyone found to have received tissue from such a clone for any reason shall have that tissue removed as part of a public execution lasting not less than one hour for each day the clone lived.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “I suppose that was why you planned to allow the commander to suicide at the end of the mission, was it?  To spare him ten-odd hours of public humiliation and torture and not just because once you had no need for him any more you didn’t care what happened to him?” 

Archer flinched.  “It wasn't like that. But this mission…” 

“Has become your great white whale,” Malcolm interrupted disgustedly.  “You’re obsessed, and it will be a bloody miracle if we manage to pull this off with you in command and return to Earth to tell them they’re safe – and you never considered that, did you, Captain Ahab?  If we don’t return, Earth will never know they’re safe.  Our home will become an armed camp, isolationist, xenophobic, constantly preparing to deflect a blow that will never fall.”  He gathered himself, straightening, absolutely radiating contempt.  “I’m going down to Sickbay now, I’ll return to my post shortly.” 

He spun on his heel and was almost through the door when Archer spoke again.  “I’ll be watching you.” 

Malcolm didn’t bother to turn around, didn’t even glance back over his shoulder to make sure his words carried past the closing door.  “You should have been already.”


	8. Breakthrough

Hoshi had been pleasantly surprised when T’Pol responded so immediately to the news that Dr. Phlox had sent for Trip, but she hadn’t expected the Vulcan to practically start running once they were out of the lift on D-deck.  “Sub-Commander…” 

T’Pol barely looked back at her.  “We must intercept Commander Tucker before he reaches Sickbay.” 

“But...but he _needs_ to go to Sickbay…” 

“I know,” T’Pol cut her off without looking back.  “But not alone.” 

Hoshi almost stopped in her tracks in shock.   Even after what Travis had told them about that morning’s scene in Tucker’s quarters and then what had just happened on the bridge, she still hadn’t really thought T’Pol’s ‘feelings’ could run too deep.  Not for a human, especially not for someone who was as gleefully and unapologetically human as Trip Tucker.  The enormity of what was happening almost floored the linguist.  T’Pol had just blown off the captain _on the bridge_ , and now she was rushing through the ship to reach Tucker so he wouldn’t have to face Phlox and Sickbay and whatever messy memories they held for him by himself.  And she’d brought Hoshi along and tried to bring Malcolm, meaning she understood that Trip would possibly need more support than one person alone could give him. 

Meaning she understood his _feelings_ …and was accepting of them.  Was willing to indulge them, even.

They’d reached the corridor approaching Sickbay, and T’Pol slowed her pace and visibly composed herself.  A few hours ago Hoshi would have thought that the other woman was trying to maintain her Vulcan dignity, but now she wondered if T’Pol had something more human in mind.  That thought was confirmed when she saw Commander Tucker standing just in front of Sickbay’s double doors and so obviously scared to death in spite of what must have been a valiant attempt to maintain control that Hoshi hurt for him.  And she kicked herself; she’d known he might need support confronting Dr. Phlox for the first time, but she’d never considered that he might need their help just to re-enter Sickbay. 

T’Pol obviously had, though.  And had just as obviously schooled herself into a semblance of calm and control to better help Tucker maintain his own.  The first words out of her mouth confirmed it.  “Commander, I am glad we were in time to intercept you.” 

Trip started, and Hoshi realized he hadn’t even registered that they were there until that moment.  Relief and embarrassment flooded his face, but he nodded stiffly.  “I am too.  Glad you’re here, that is.  Wasn’t sure I could…”  He gestured toward the frosted doors of Sickbay with a jerky wave of his hand.  “Haven’t been in there since…since…” 

“Since you left to attend the funeral,” T’Pol finished for him, nodding herself.  For someone who wasn’t supposed to be displaying emotion she had a wealth of sympathy showing in both face and voice.  “It is only logical that you would be uneasy about returning.” 

“Lieutenant Reed would have come too, but he had something to finish on the bridge,” Hoshi added, moving in closer herself.  She wasn’t going to tell him that she thought the thing Malcolm had stayed behind to finish was a major confrontation with the captain – she just hoped they wouldn’t be leaving Sickbay to visit the armory officer in the brig, or worse.  Malcolm Reed wasn’t necessary to the running of the ship; Enterprise didn’t need an armory officer to be able to complete her mission. 

But then, she was pretty sure Malcolm knew that.  She was pretty sure, given recent events, that Malcolm had worked out the relative mission-value of every crewmember on board with an eye toward making sure the least-needed didn’t get killed off every time something risky needed to be done. 

Unfortunately, Hoshi was also pretty sure Captain Archer had worked out the values in the opposite direction.  Everyone was afraid of him and with good reason.  He’d been careless with the crew’s safety before, but it hadn’t been deliberate; now he just didn’t care.  The thought made her shudder. 

The shudder was echoed by Trip, although it had a different fear behind it.  He’d managed to stay in control of himself long enough to get out of Engineering and away from the curious eyes of his staff, but the closer he’d gotten to Sickbay the more he’d felt like a man walking to his own execution.  Which of course was exactly what he had done all those weeks ago – which was why he was shaking in his shoes now.  Phlox had been avoiding him, which Trip could understand and couldn’t fault the doctor for, and it was a situation he really hadn’t expected to change any time soon.  He could only guess that Travis had gotten caught trying to get his first-aid supplies. 

Or, Travis had meant to get caught.  Trip knew his friends – the friends he hadn’t thought he still had until just over a week ago – were worried about him, and he knew they wanted to help.  But the six-million dollar question was, did Phlox?  Or would the Denobulan just…declare the experiment a failure and write it off as an idea that hadn’t worked?  And would the captain insist he try again, for the ‘good of the mission’? 

Trip was very afraid the captain would.  Again and again and again until they got a viable engineer or until the mission was over, whichever came first.  He doubted they’d tell him what was going on the next time, though.  Or the time after that, or the time after that… 

The nightmare he’d been trying to ignore all this time rose up to choke him.  His life could very easily be over again if he took one more step, his newly regained personhood could be stripped away again and Trip Tucker would cease to exist – because Trip Tucker wasn’t necessary, Trip Tucker was just an unwanted attachment to the engineering knowledge the captain required to complete the mission.  Trip Tucker, unlike Chief Engineer Commander Tucker, was expendable. 

Something pinched his arm – hard! – and Trip jumped, sucking in a breath as he did.  He looked down at the hand on his arm and then up into T’Pol’s intense eyes in shock.  “What…” 

“You were not breathing,” she observed evenly, but something in her expression warmed as her grip on him gentled.   “We will not allow anything to happen to you, Charles.” 

He smiled, a very small smile that just barely twitched up the corners of his mouth, and patted her shoulder.  “I know you’ll try,” he told her softly.  He wasn’t going to deny the truth of the situation, and he wouldn’t let her deny it for him either.  “But you might not be able to stop it.”  And gently removing her hand from his arm, he turned back to the doors, squared his shoulders, and walked into Sickbay.  

Dr. Phlox had been watching the corridor on the monitor, hurting for his son but knowing he couldn’t help, so he’d been more than happy to see Sub-Commander T’Pol and Ensign Sato come to the rescue.  The exchange between Tucker and T’Pol worried him, though; a tender moment to be sure, but the look of utter defeat and resignation on the engineer’s face raised alarm flags in the doctor’s mind.  Something was very wrong, even more so than he’d anticipated.  And he could tell by the look on T’Pol’s face that she was seeing it for the first time as well, she looked almost startled.  Phlox sighed.  Well, he supposed he would be finding out what it was soon enough. 

He’d waited around the corner from the main entrance, wanting to give Tucker a chance to adjust to the idea of being back in Sickbay before having to deal with Phlox himself.  When he did come out he did so slowly, being sure to make plenty of noise to announce himself, but the younger man still started when he appeared.  “Doc, you…needed to see me?” 

“I heard you’ve been having difficulties,” Phlox answered, careful to keep both face and voice pleasantly neutral; he didn’t want to sound like he was laying blame for not having been told.  He took two more cautious steps closer.  “I do apologize for neglecting you these past weeks, Charles.  Had I not drawn away from you, no doubt you would have felt more secure in coming to me for help.  Did this morning’s neuropressure help the headache?” 

Trip had started slightly again at the use of his given name, but he was unable to maintain eye contact and shifted his gaze to somewhere near the floor.  “Uh, yeah, for a little while.”

“But it is back now?”  A nod.  Phlox nodded too, even though the younger man wasn’t looking at him.  “Why don’t we get you into the scanner and see if we can figure out what the problem is, then?  Would you be comfortable with doing that?”  Blue eyes flashed up in disbelief, and Phlox took another step closer.  “If laying inside the scanner would be too distressing for you, we can come up with something else,” he assured the engineer gently.  “I will not force you.” 

“You won’t?”  That appeared to have slipped out, because Tucker immediately looked embarrassed and squared his shoulders much the same way he had just prior to entering Sickbay.  “I mean, no, it’s okay.  I can do it.”    

“Good, that will make it much easier to see what has gone wrong.”  Phlox motioned Trip onward, encompassing Hoshi and T’Pol in the gesture as well, and then followed him across the room to the extended platform of the open scanner.  He drew as close as he dared when the younger man hesitated, but not quite close enough to touch.  Before he could say anything, though, Trip gathered himself again and sat down, then lay down on the platform.  Phlox wasn’t about to push his luck by asking another question.  “This will only take a few moments,” he said reassuringly, moving to the controls as he did so. 

Trip gave him a thumbs-up, but Hoshi still held her breath when the platform slid inside the scanner.  She’d been halfway afraid he wouldn’t be able to do it, and from T’Pol’s sharp intake of breath when the scanner closed itself up she guessed the Vulcan hadn’t been too sure either.  Hoshi moved closer to Phlox, who was watching the readouts closely, and when he abruptly leaned his head against the panel and shut his eyes she feared the worst.  “Doctor?”

He sighed.  “He is shaking so hard he is practically vibrating,” Phlox said softly, almost as much to himself as to her.  “I did this through my negligence, and now I do not know if I can fix it.” 

“You can,” T’Pol said, surprising him.  She nodded when he looked at her questioningly.  “You are a father figure to Charles, and he does not hold what you were forced to do against you.” 

“Perhaps not, but that does not stop him from being afraid I will hurt him again,” the doctor told her pointedly.  But he straightened.  “He was such a delightful child, and even as a young man, so loving and affectionate and always wanting to help.  I understand him so much better now, and to have done this to him….well, on Denobula this would be a crime worthy of shunning.”  He shuddered.  “Charles’ family was much like one of ours, he grew up surrounded by their love and support, a very firm foundation..”  He made an adjustment to the scanner array, frowned at what the new settings showed him.  “When the Xindi attacked Earth, his older sister blamed him for Elizabeth’s death.  To maintain the peace, his parents requested that he not return home or attend her memorial service.” 

Hoshi was horrified.  She’d known that there were those on Earth who blamed Starfleet, particularly Enterprise and her crew, for what had happened, but she never would have thought that Tucker’s tight-knit family might be among them.  “So he didn’t have anyone to…” 

“To help him work through his grief, no.  Not until the memories returned to him in his cloned form and he came to me, anyway.  Considering the lack of emotional support, I think he did surprisingly well – or maybe not surprisingly, although that could just be the parent in me talking.”  Phlox sighed again, thinking of his older son who had gone so terribly astray, and how he had blamed himself for it.  “Sometimes a firm foundation is not enough, but in Charles’ case it was, just barely.” 

“He is a strong individual,” T’Pol said, and to Hoshi it sounded far more like a compliment than it would have in the early days of their mission, the days when the Vulcan found fault with nearly everything Tucker did.  “This situation may have been, as humans put it, ‘the straw that broke the camel’s back’.”  At Hoshi’s look she almost shrugged.  “Charles explained the reference to me, it is a very logical analogy as applied to human emotional tolerance.” 

“Humans do have a delightfully colorful way of putting things, don’t they?” Phlox agreed.  He ended his scan and the unit slid back open; Trip had swung his legs over the side and was sitting up almost before the platform had stopped moving, but the doctor didn’t comment on it.  “You’ll be happy to know that it’s nothing serious,” he told the nervous engineer kindly. 

Trip shuddered, although it looked like he was trying not to.  His blue eyes were wide, too wide, and Hoshi could see that the fingers wrapped around the edge of the platform were white-knuckled.  “So you don’t have to…do it again?” 

Phlox’ eyes widened too, with shock.  “You thought…”  The look on the engineer’s face clearly said he did.  “No!  No, I wouldn’t do it again even if I could, you have my word on that.”  He answered the question before it was asked.  “I don’t have any more of that particular creature, there was only the one.”  He frowned when Trip looked down, reached out to lift his chin back up so he could look him in the eye.  “Charles, I would not have done it at all had I known the outcome.  And I have researched the enzyme treatment thoroughly, it would have extended your clone’s life by only a few days at most.  Had we tried it, you both would have died.” 

A twist of bitterness warped the relief on Trip’s face.  “That wouldn’t have made the captain happy.” 

“Nothing makes the captain happy,” T’Pol stated dismissively, as though the subject were one not worth bothering about.  “Doctor, what is the problem?” 

“An abscess – a small one,” Phlox added quickly when Trip’s eyes widened again.  “It appears to have been a localized pocket of infection which sealed itself off, it is the pressure from it which is causing your headaches and dizziness.  Once it is gone, the symptoms will disappear as well.” 

Trip nodded but didn’t relax.  “Will you have to do,” he swallowed hard, and the word came out as a near-whisper, “surgery?” 

“No,” Phlox assured him.  “No surgery.  The procedure will take only a few minutes, and you will be able to return to work in an hour.”  He lifted his hand to the younger man’s face again, this time to touch his cheek.  “I am so sorry, sa-athel.  Ignorance is no excuse for the way I have treated you – or not treated you, as the case may be.” 

Trip sucked in a shocked breath, and it took him a long moment to find his voice.  “I…I thought you didn’t…” 

“I didn’t _know_ , Charles – I thought I had killed my son, only to find out instead that I had abandoned him when he needed me most.”  Phlox stroked his cheek again, then let his hand drop so his fingers could curl lightly around one broad, trembling shoulder.  “Can you forgive me that mistake as well?” 

“You couldn’t have known.”  Trip’s voice was choked, his eyes becoming bright.  “I…I didn’t really know at first myself, it was all so mixed up in my head.  Took me a while to get it all sorted out, and then…”  His head dropped, his fair skin flushing.  “I’m sorry, athel-sa.  You must be so ashamed of me for even considerin’…” 

“On the contrary, I am amazingly proud of you,” Phlox interrupted gently, giving him a little shake.  “If anyone were given cause for wanting to end their life, it was you in this situation – and even in the face of that, you were prepared to delay your plans for the good of the ship and the mission.  But if I am not mistaken, those plans have changed, have they not?” 

“Yeah.”  Trip swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.  “Yeah, they have.”  Another shudder.  “But…” he shot a sidelong look at Hoshi and T’Pol before looking up with frightened eyes at Phlox, “the captain’s might not have.” 

The doctor’s face became a study in horrified anger.  “ _Still_ the nightmares?”  At Trip’s nod he pulled the younger man into a strong embrace.  “Sa- athel, you have my word, Captain Archer is not going to hurt you.” 

T’Pol frowned slightly and leaned closer to Hoshi, lowering her voice.  “Ensign, do you know…?” 

Hoshi smiled.  “The words they’ve been using mean father and son, the prefix and suffix define a particular type of familial relationship.  That’s one of the things that makes Denobulan so hard to learn, which word you use depends a lot on who’s talking to who about what.” 

The Vulcan nodded but wasn’t satisfied.  “And the nightmares?  I thought they concerned the Xindi attack on Earth…” 

 “No, not the Xindi, not any more,” Phlox said quietly, before Hoshi could open her mouth to say she’d thought the same thing.  “Those stopped fairly quickly, once he had someone to talk with about what happened.  But he’s been having nightmares about the captain since he was physiologically nine or ten.”  The doctor’s expression hardened.  “I should never have allowed Captain Archer to be alone with him at such an impressionable developmental stage, never.” 

Hoshi shuddered slightly.  She could remember when Jonathan Archer had been one of the gentlest, kindest men she’d ever met.  Not the sort of man who’d frighten a child, especially not on purpose and certainly not so badly that the adult was still terrified of him.  But now…  “That was unwise,” T’Pol agreed, moving closer to the doctor as Trip pulled out of his embrace and stood up, looking embarrassed and swiping at his eyes.  The Vulcan caught and held those eyes with her own.  “I will not allow Captain Archer to harm you,” she stated flatly, and then waved a hand to encompass Hoshi and Phlox.  “ _We_ will not allow it.” 

Malcolm chose that moment to walk into the room.  “Bloody well right we won’t,” he agreed cheerfully; Hoshi couldn’t help but notice he was all but glowing with self-satisfaction and breathed a silent sigh of relief that he’d come out on top in whatever confrontation he’d just had with the captain.  “But I don’t think you have to worry about him doing much of anything, not today anyway.  He’ll likely be sulking in his ready room for another hour at least, and I will be quite surprised if he retakes the bridge at any time during my shift.” 

Phlox and T’Pol both nodded, and Hoshi couldn’t help but grin back at him…but Trip actually paled.  “Mal, you didn’t…”  Malcolm smirked, and the engineer closed the distance between them in one long step and grabbed the smaller man’s arm.  “Are you crazy?!  He doesn’t care about anything but the mission, don’t you get it?  Mal, he doesn’t need,” his voice cracked and he swallowed hard, “an armory officer to finish the mission.” 

Hoshi winced; obviously Trip had done the math just like everyone else.  Malcolm, however, didn’t turn a hair or even move out of the engineer’s strong grip.  “I know,” he replied calmly.  “But Trip, insubordination isn’t possible in this situation, and even if it were I was well within the scope of my duties to have the conversation I did with him just now.”  Malcolm conveniently did not add that he hadn’t exactly conducted said conversation the way regulations instructed him to.  “If he takes it badly that’s his problem.”  

Trip’s eyebrows went up.  “You invoked Article 41 on him?” 

“I told him I was prepared to, and that I had enough evidence to do it twice over.  Which happens to be the truth,” Malcolm added.  “It was about time someone made him face what he’s been doing, and I’m the only person on board who can do so with impunity because of Article 41 – I’m required to inform him when his behavior constitutes a violation of the article so long as he is still otherwise rational and I can do so without risking myself or another crewmember.” 

Trip blinked.  “Why am I not surprised you memorized that?” 

“It’s my job to have it memorized.” Malcolm shrugged, and his saucy grin came back.  “I’m quite sure the captain had to look it up the moment I left the room, though.  Now enough about Captain Ahab, what’s got us all down here standing around?  Did our good doctor find out what’s causing the difficulties you’ve been having?” 

“I did, and I was just about to fix it,” Phlox told him.  The doctor was smiling again, full of approval for Reed’s handling of things.  “You may all remain in Sickbay.”  His tone said he really thought they should, or at least that he didn’t think they’d leave if he told them to.  “Now if we could move this over to a biobed, the actual procedure will only take a few moments to complete.” 

He would have led Trip past the nearest biobed, but the engineer stopped at its foot and shook his head.  “No, might as well do it all at once – better to face it now than during some emergency.” 

“This is the place, then?” Malcolm asked quietly, returning the gesture when Trip and Phlox both nodded and then clapping the engineer on the shoulder.  “Good thinking – it wouldn’t do for either of you to have difficulties if the circumstances were more urgent.” 

Trip looked startled.  “Either of…athel-sa?”

“I  might,” Phlox admitted.  “I haven’t been sleeping too well myself these past few weeks.”  His raised hand forestalled Trip’s automatic apology.  “No, it wasn’t your fault.  Circumstances were forced upon us, now we simply have to move past them.”  

“Doin’ my best,” Trip said, looking down again. 

“Doing just fine,” Malcolm corrected firmly, returning the shake the engineer had given him earlier.  “You’re always saying _I_ don’t cut myself enough slack, but you’re far more demanding when it comes to yourself.” 

“That is true,” T’Pol agreed.  “You have done admirably well in the face of current circumstances.” 

“Whether you think so or not,” Hoshi added uncompromisingly.  “That’s the kind of thing you can’t trust your own opinion on, you have to take our word for it.” 

“Exactly so.”  Phlox was pleased and almost beaming again.  He guided Trip around the biobed and directed him to sit on the side of it, making sure his son was comfortably situated before beginning to fuss with the bed’s controls, routing the scanner’s readings through to the panels overhead.  Then he crossed the room and came back, this time behind Trip on the opposite side of the bed, with two small conical silver devices.  “These are a very simple yet very effective alternative to more invasive procedures,” he explained, making sure the nervous engineer got a good look at them.  “Where the two beams intersect…” 

“They burn whatever’s at the point of contact but nothin’ else,” Trip finished for him, turning the little device over in his fingers before handing it back.  “We use somethin’ like this in Engineerin’ to fuse connections that can’t be reached, they’re real precise.” 

“We also use them in the science lab,” T’Pol said.  “So you will use these to target the abscess?” 

“And destroy it, yes,” Phlox answered.  “It will be very quick and completely painless.  Normally you would not even have to stay in Sickbay once the procedure was completed,” he assured his son.  “But I anticipate that you may experience some temporary dizziness and nausea once the pressure is relieved, so I feel it would be best if you remained here for a short time until you are feeling back to normal.” 

Trip looked back over his shoulder to lock eyes with the doctor.  “Okay,” he said, and then added deliberately, “I trust you, athel-sa.” 

Phlox ruffled his hair.  “Thank you, sa-athel,” he responded.  “Now just lie down on your side and try to relax, and I’ll be done before you know it.”  

T’Pol and Malcolm moved in to help him get situated, but even before Trip was fully lying down the biobed readings shot up sharply.  He had already stiffened up again and closed his eyes, and when Phlox attached the first of the small devices near the base of his skull Hoshi saw a shudder ripple all the way through the length of his body.  She wasn’t the only one who’d seen it; the doctor stopped what he was doing at the same time Malcolm raised a hand to signal him to wait, and T’Pol leaned in close.  “Charles, open your eyes and look at me,” she ordered.  Blue eyes blinked open.  “Look only at me,” T’Pol continued.  “You will continue to look me in the eye until the doctor is finished, do you understand?” 

He nodded, but when the Vulcan reached out to put her hand against the side of his face the doctor’s larger hand wrapped firmly around her wrist, preventing contact.  “No, T’Pol,” he told her.  “Now is not a good time.” 

She looked startled.  “I was not…” 

“Not intentionally, but instinct is more powerful than you realize,” the doctor rebutted quietly, turning her hand so she could see the positions of her fingers.  He nodded when her eyes widened.  “You see?  Now keep your hands back, and the three of us can discuss what this means at a better time.”  He ruffled Trip’s hair again.  “Do as T’Pol says, Charles, and it will all be over in a moment.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Trip whispered, but he made a visible effort to relax and do as he was told.  “I’m sorry…” 

 “Oh bloody hell, not that again,” Malcolm exclaimed without heat.  He leaned in close as well.  “What happened the last time you were in here?” 

Another shudder.  “I…I died.” 

“You were killed,” the armory officer corrected flatly, ignoring the doctor’s flinch.  “Quite deliberately, while your commanding officer stood by watching with that rat-bastard look he gets on his face so much these days, if I’m not mistaken…and now here you are _again_.  Mr. Tucker, if I were in your place our good doctor would have had to stun me into tractability with a phase pistol.”  This time he did glance up at Phlox.  “You might want to remember that for future reference, Doctor.” 

Phlox knew that was an apology for the first comment and nodded to show that he accepted it, then went back to what he’d been doing and placed the second of the small devices at an oblique angle to its counterpart.  Overhead on the screen that showed the abscess tracking beams appeared, and the doctor adjusted them until they converged right in the center of the problem; then he activated the devices, and the point where the beams met turned red.  The deadly little pocket of infection slowly collapsed in on itself around the glowing spot until it had all but disappeared, at which point Phlox deactivated the devices again and set them aside.  “There we are, Charles, all finished.” 

“That barely took two minutes…” Trip began, starting to sit up…and then falling back onto his side with a groan.  “Oh…” 

“Just don’t move, and keep your eyes closed,” Phlox instructed him.  “You may take a little nap, if you like – and I promise, you will wake up exactly as you are now.” 

Trip tried to turn his head to look up, but the movement triggered another rush of nausea and he groaned again.  Malcolm, to everyone’s surprise, smiled.  “I may be able to help with that,” he said.  He pried the engineer’s hand away from his stomach and pressed a certain spot between his thumb and forefinger.  “Now try it.” 

Trip turned his head, gingerly at first and then with more confidence.  He turned wide eyes on Malcolm.  “How did you…?” 

The armory officer snorted and put the hand he was holding back where he’d found it.  “It’s a pressure point for halting seasickness – I wouldn’t have survived my family’s vacations very well without it.  But it’s just a temporary measure, so stay still and take your nap.” 

The engineer made a face at him.  “I’m gonna be hearin’ about that for a long time, aren’t I?” 

“I promise not to trot it out more than once a week,” Malcolm told him with a wink.  “Now I’d best be getting back to the bridge, but I’ll see you later this evening.”  He cocked a questioning eyebrow at Phlox.  “Should we skip the exercise tonight, Doctor?” 

“No, it should be fine,” Phlox assured him.  “Although I’d appreciate it if you’d stop by later and tell me what sort of regimen you’ve been following.” 

“Certainly, I’ll stop in when my shift is over.”  Malcolm patted Trip’s shoulder and then corralled Hoshi.  “Come along, Ensign, we’ve had all the break we’re going to get today.” 

Hoshi patted Trip’s leg.  “I’m glad you’re all right, Trip.  We’ll see you at supper tonight.” 

“Okay.”  Trip lifted his head again.  “Thanks guys.” 

“That’s what friends are for,” Malcolm told him, and then he smiled.  “You taught me that, you know.  Now quit stalling and go to sleep like you were told.” 

This time it was Trip’s turn to snort, but his head dropped and he closed his eyes again.  “Go blow somethin’ up, Mal.” 

“Did he just give me permission to destroy something for my own amusement?” Malcolm asked Hoshi, ushering her through the doors and out into the corridor.  “You know, I have been wanting to test those missiles again…” 

Phlox did not ask T’Pol if she was staying, just perched himself on the edge of the biobed and rubbed his son’s back while she got a suitable chair and made herself comfortable.  “Perhaps later this week we could have that very necessary conversation I mentioned earlier?” he offered quietly. 

“What was that all about?” Trip wanted to know, opening his eyes again and turning his head to look up at Phlox.  “She was just goin’ to…” 

“You do not know what she was about to do, and neither did she,” Phlox interrupted him.  “I will explain it to you later, sa-athel; it is more important now that you sleep.  Not to worry, it is nothing that you should be concerned about.” 

Trip blinked at him, then rolled his head back to its original position with a sigh.  “Okay, athel-sa.”  T’Pol inserted her fingers into his hair and began to rub his scalp, and he sighed again, letting his eyes slide shut with pleasure.  “Mmm, that feels nice.” 

“I will continue, then,” she told him.  “And it is pleasant for me also.  Now go to sleep, Charles.  I will be here when you awaken.” 

Phlox removed himself at that point, dropping a kiss on his son’s temple before he went to put away his devices.  He puttered around for several more minutes once things were back in order, watching the tender little tableau with a smile, and then went back to his office and set the router to send all Sickbay communications through his office terminal.  He did not want his son disturbed, and he was certain it would not be long before the captain was calling for T’Pol. 

 

Captain Archer sat in his ready room and stared at the wall for a long time.  The wall was better than the viewport, staring out the viewport reminded him of all the other times he’d done it and he was starting to feel like the stars were mocking him. 

Maybe they were.  Or maybe he was going nuts.  Maybe it was a good thing his armory officer was watching him after all. 

That was the thought that stood him up out of his inertia; you know it’s time to stop stewing when having your crew mutiny sounds like a good idea.  He’d looked up Article 41 and seen for himself that Reed hadn’t been exaggerating, so he knew he was going to have to do something about things _now_ , before the situation got any more out of hand.  He’d talk to T’Pol about it, maybe she’d have some suggestions.  Sure she’d walked off the bridge earlier without his permission, but Archer was positive she’d have a logical reason for doing that – a reason she’d doubtless share with him at first opportunity.  He didn’t admit to himself how the incident had thrown him; she was the one predictable thing left in his universe, he depended on T’Pol to be his stability. 

Archer also didn’t ask himself whether or not she wanted to be that for him, to be his personal support structure and not just his first officer.  He never had asked, he just…expected it and so far she’d never complained, never tried to shirk the responsibility.  Well, except when it came to sharing breakfast with him, but not everyone was a breakfast-meeting kind of person so Archer was willing to overlook the excuses she used to get out of joining him in the mornings.  He didn’t like it, but he was willing to overlook it. 

But then, there wasn’t much he did like these days. 

He hit the comm panel to contact Sickbay, planning to call his first officer to his ready room, but to Archer’s surprise Phlox answered from his office instead of over the intercom.  He shook it off.  “Phlox, is T’Pol still there?” 

“Yes.”  The doctor interrupted him before he could relay the order, though.  “I am afraid I require her presence at the moment, but she should be returning to the bridge in approximately one hour.  Perhaps Lieutenant Reed…” 

“No.”  Okay, that had come out a little too quickly for Archer to sound anything but panicked, but he wasn’t nearly ready to face Reed again.  “Tell the Sub-Commander that I want to see her in my ready room immediately, Doctor.  Whatever she’s doing down there, she can come back to it.” 

“I’m afraid that isn’t an option,” Phlox countered smoothly, his voice a little cooler than it had been.  “One hour, Captain.” 

The connection cut off.  Archer stared at the silent speaker in disbelief.  Just how many people on this ship were in on Reed’s little insubordination play anyway?  Most of the command staff of the ship, it seemed.  Was Travis?  Archer thought about it and decided he couldn’t be sure; he hadn’t really been paying attention to the crew lately except where duty required him to.  And the ensign hadn’t been on the bridge this morning, it was his day to work with Astrocartography on their navigational plans.  The captain decided he would have to pay closer attention to who was interacting with who, figure out where the connections were. 

The main connection, though, he already knew about but couldn’t deal with.  It was no coincidence that a mass show of rebellion on the bridge this morning had coincided with Phlox calling Engineering.  Calling for the chief engineer?  Had to be.  And now Phlox was insisting that T’Pol was needed in Sickbay for another hour, which he had to guess meant Tucker would be in there that long too.  So T’Pol was doing something with Tucker…that neuropressure thing?  He was going to be very upset with Phlox if the doctor was denying him access to his first officer just so she could give someone a massage. 

An hour really wasn’t that long, it wasn’t really an emergency…but Archer told himself it was the principle of the thing and slammed out of his ready room to march down to Sickbay. 

 

Archer wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he stalked through the frosted double doors, but it wasn’t to find T’Pol sitting beside a sleeping Tucker and carding her fingers through his hair.  She looked meditative, and that irritated him even more.  “I need you in my ready room,” he ordered quietly but firmly. 

She just looked at him.  “I believe the doctor told you I would return to the bridge in one hour.” 

He grimaced.  “He said he needed you, that you were doing something important.”  He waved a hand at the situation.  “This isn’t important.” 

“On the contrary, it is.”  T’Pol’s voice was cool, but for a Vulcan the faint inflections in her tone said she was all but snapping at him and he knew it.  “And I am aware of no emergency which requires my presence on the bridge at this time.” 

Archer stiffened, drawing himself up.  “I gave you an order, Sub-Commander.” 

“I will obey it – in one hour, when Charles has been released from Sickbay to return to his duties,” she countered.  “Until that time you may either remain here or return to the bridge to await my arrival.” 

“He can return to the bridge,” Phlox qualified, coming into the room and nodding to Archer before checking the display over Tucker’s biobed.  “Finding the captain here when he awakens would be a horrible shock for Charles, I simply can’t allow it.” 

The captain really didn’t want to stay there either, but his stubborn streak was kicking into high gear and he wasn’t about to let someone dictate to him on his own ship.  “He’s going to have to get over it,” Archer snapped.  “This mission doesn’t get put on hold just because he’s still wallowing in self pity.” 

He hadn’t yelled, but he hadn’t bothered to keep his voice low either and Tucker stirred restlessly in his sleep.  The captain’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline when Phlox began to rub the sleeping engineer’s back and leaned over to murmur something in his ear.  T’Pol hadn’t moved, but the look she gave her captain was frosty enough to put icicles on him.  “Your assessment of the situation is faulty,” she informed him. 

Archer was taken aback.  “Excuse me?  He’s asleep, you’re just sitting there playing with his hair.  And he’s been wallowing ever since…” 

“Ever since we killed him?” Phlox finished for him dryly.  A slight smile quirked one corner of his mouth when Archer winced.  “You knew he’d retained his cloned memories, Captain, and yet you told no one – and I discovered less than an hour ago that he firmly believed that should anything go ‘wrong’ you would simply order me to repeat the cloning procedure until we got it right.”  Something hardened in his pale blue eyes, something intense enough, strong enough to make Archer uneasy.  “He is convinced that only thing you value about him is the engineering knowledge which makes him necessary to the mission – and which we now know can be preserved through cloning.” 

“He expressed a similar sentiment to me last night when I inquired about his well-being,” T’Pol added.  “I expressed concern that he was not sleeping, and he informed me that he would go back to taking sedatives if it became necessary as the eventual outcome was no longer important.” 

All right, the look in T’Pol’s eyes was one Archer had seen before, just not directed at him: contempt.  It sometimes amazed him that a race priding itself on repressing emotion apparently didn’t extend that to the expression of negative feelings unless they felt like it.  He didn’t have a good answer for her, though – he wasn’t sure there was an answer for that, good or not, and so turned his attention back to Phlox.  “What did you call him down here for anyway?” 

The words came out harsh, much harsher than he meant them or even than he’d meant to say them, and Archer couldn’t help but cringe a little when Phlox fixed him with a hard blue eye.  “A localized infection in the transplanted tissue,” the doctor said coldly.  “The pressure from the abscess was causing severe headaches and frequent dizzy spells.  I was able to repair the damage and relieve the pressure, but the aftereffects of the intracranial procedure necessitated he remain in Sickbay for a time so that I could monitor his recovery.” 

Archer had gone a little pale.  “Will he be all right?” 

“He will be back on duty within the hour.”  Phlox hardened even more.  “And never fear, I did inquire before I asked him to leave his duties and he informed me that there was nothing going on in Engineering which his staff could not handle on their own.” 

“He has been inordinately concerned with fulfilling his duties to the best of his ability,” T’Pol added, “as it was made so clear to him that the performance of those duties is the only reason for his continued existence.”  

Archer thought he saw a flash of not-so-cold satisfaction in her eyes when he couldn’t help but react to that, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it because Phlox was already talking again.  “You certainly made an impression on him over the course of his life,” the doctor said.  “I believe one can only describe the effect you had as nightmarish.  But all that is at an end now.” 

“It is,” T’Pol agreed.  “Such…incidents will not be permitted to happen again.” 

They were both staring at him, all but bristling with hostility, and Archer suddenly came to the disturbing realization that they were both aliens – not that he hadn’t known they were aliens before, but he really hadn’t _felt_ it until this moment.  And that scared him.  He’d thought he knew them, but now…now he didn’t think he did at all, and he suddenly didn’t know what either of them was thinking or what they might do. 

And, with an icy burst of cold reality that shattered the last of the denial he’d been working so hard to maintain, he realized that these two aliens were protecting another human…from _him_.  That his behavior had been so horribly, shockingly _wrong_ that even a non-human was unable to accept it.  

Trip hadn’t been wallowing in self-pity like Archer had been lying to himself about; he’d been so thoroughly traumatized that he’d simply withdrawn completely –so thoroughly traumatized that he’d been planning to kill himself once the mission was over.  Archer shuddered, feeling the cold sink into him in deep, painful places; he’d all but told Trip to go ahead and do it, let his former best friend know by his silence that his life had no value once his special knowledge of the Warp 5 engine wasn’t necessary any more.  Nightmarish, Phlox had said.  Did that mean some of Trip’s nightmares were now about him instead of the Xindi? 

Phlox was talking again.  “I believe it is time for you to leave, Captain,” he was saying, with a glance at the biobed’s readings again.  “It appears that even when he is unconscious you are able to disturb Charles, and I cannot allow that, as a doctor or as a father.  I will escort the captain out,” he told T’Pol, who nodded.  “I will be back in short order – and please remember our earlier conversation, watch the placement of your hands.” 

She nodded again and re-focused her attention on Tucker with a look that was full of feeling, so full Archer sucked in a shocked breath.  But before he could comment Phlox was already taking him by the arm and half-dragging him out of Sickbay and into the corridor.  “Hey!  I can see myself out…” 

“You and I need to have words,” Phlox informed him, using the hold he had on Archer’s arm to back him against the bulkhead.  “I did not want you in Sickbay any longer, so we will have them here and when I’m finished with you then you can remove yourself.” 

The doctor had let go of him, but Archer could tell just by his body language that any attempt to move away was probably going to be met with violence – and he didn’t really know how much stronger than him the Denobulan might be, another one of those things Lieutenant Reed would probably say he should have been paying attention to all this time but hadn’t.  It was too late now.  He still felt he had to try to reassert his authority, though.  “Doctor Phlox, you’re out of line,” he growled, as harshly as he could. 

To his dismay, Phlox smiled at him.  “As chief physician of _Enterprise_ , I would be,” he replied.  “But I am not speaking to you as an officer of this ship, I’m speaking to you as Charles’ father.” 

“That’s the second time you’ve said that, and I still don’t understand what you’re talking about!” Archer snapped.  Getting angry was so much easier, it made him feel more in control and less afraid – it had been working pretty well for him since the Xindi attack.  “I know you got attached to Sim, but he’s dead and Trip isn’t him.” 

“On the contrary, Charles _was_ him,” the doctor corrected witheringly.  “They were _his_ memories and they still are, it was _his_ life and it still is.  It was even his death, and he remembers it quite well – including his own funeral, which _you_ insisted he attend in spite of the fact that he was barely recovered enough to be allowed out of Sickbay, much less to return to duty.  And under Denobulan law – which Starfleet requires you to respect with regards to me – he _is_ my son.  And as such I have every right to have this conversation with you, and to insist that you comply with my demands on this matter.” 

Archer’s eyes narrowed; it seemed like a lot of people had the ‘right’ to dictate to him today.  “And those would be?” 

“First and foremost, you will have a talk with Charles, at a time I deem appropriate,” Phlox told him.  “I will not be present, but I will be watching and I will record the conversation to be used as evidence if and only if future circumstances warrant.” 

All right, that was a surprise.  He hadn’t expected that.  “Blackmail, Doctor?” 

Phlox snorted.  “Hardly – insurance, you might call it.  The recording will be destroyed once the mission has been completed and we are back in contact with Starfleet and my own people.  In this conversation you will inform Charles that you have no intention of killing him…” 

Oh god, he’d been right.  Nightmares, anyone?  “I don’t!” 

“…and that you do not believe he only has value because of his knowledge of the Warp 5 engine,” the doctor continued as though Archer hadn’t spoken at all.  “You will also apologize to him for your behavior throughout this situation and assure him that you have realized your error and will immediately begin correcting things for the good of your crew as well as the good of the mission.”  Pale blue eyes bored into his.  “And you will not be lying to him, will you, Captain?” 

“At least you remember my rank even if you don’t understand what it means,” Archer spat out.  “And no, I won’t be lying; things have gotten out of control around here and I have to fix that if we’re going to complete this mission.  But if you think he’ll just let it go because I say I’m sorry…” 

“He won’t,” Phlox interrupted again.  “He can’t, you’ve done too much damage and your personal relationship with him is unsalvageable.  If you are sincere the explanation and apology should return your _professional_ relationship to a workable state, however, which is necessary for obvious reasons.  I seriously doubt it will reduce his fear of you very much, though.  It will take time for the nightmares to cease, if they ever fully do – fears imprinted in childhood tend to have more permanence than those gained as an adult.” 

Archer froze, his bolstering anger draining away, his still-narrowed eyes widening.  All thoughts of asserting his authority vanished in the face of a sudden need to know the details he’d deliberately ignored.  “How long has he been…dreaming about me trying to kill him?” 

“There is no trying about it.”  The captain winced, but Phlox didn’t soften at all.  “As he grew older and remembered more of you, the nightmares became more detailed – disturbingly so in some instances, such as the ones that involved you removing the transplant tissue yourself by force.  It still amazes me that he did not run away screaming when he entered Sickbay and saw you standing beside the bed that day.”  A trace of a snarl twitched at one corner of the doctor’s mouth.  “You will recall, I requested that you _not_ be present at that time, but you would not listen to me.” 

“No, I guess I didn’t.”  Archer swallowed, tasting bile at the back of his throat and knowing he wouldn’t be eating dinner tonight with the images that were now running around in his head.  Changing the subject was suddenly a necessity.  “Is that why T’Pol is here, to help with the nightmares?”  He knew it had to be more than that, because what his first officer had been doing in Sickbay certainly hadn’t been Vulcan neuropressure, but he really didn’t expect Phlox to give him an answer if he asked flat out if Trip and T’Pol were involved somehow.  He’d been suspecting something was going on between them, and on at least one occasion right here in Sickbay he hadn’t exactly made a secret of the fact that he didn’t like it. 

Not that he’d liked much of anything lately – not even himself. 

Phlox accepted the new topic, although Archer had a feeling that had more to do with him wanting to move on to more of his demands than it did with him not wanting to see his captain throw up.  “She came to support him through what was a very stressful and frightening re-entry into Sickbay, and stayed to reassure him so that he could rest,” the doctor stated flatly.  “And yes, since I know you are trying not to ask, their relationship is moving beyond the bounds of friendship, and you will _not_ interfere with them.  You have done so in the past, whether out of jealousy or the pursuit of your obsession I neither know nor care, but you will not do so again.  From this point on, when  T’Pol and Charles are off duty you will not disturb them unless it is an emergency – an _actual_ emergency, not a hunch or an idea or simply a need to rant at someone in an attempt to ease your own mind.”  He smiled that disturbing smile again at Archer’s startled look.  “There is very little you can hide from me, Captain.  I am well aware of the reason you wanted the sub-commander to attend you just now, I had even anticipated that you would be calling and routed Sickbay’s communications through my office to prevent you from disturbing my son.” 

Archer swallowed, feeling transparent and not liking it much.  His father had made him feel that way a lot, and it was something he didn’t miss.  “I didn’t want to disturb him, I just needed to talk to T’Pol.  She did leave the bridge without a word earlier.” 

“I doubt you would have allowed her to leave if she had followed protocol and asked permission,” the doctor told him.  “I will repeat, you are not to interfere with what is happening.  The sub-commander is entering puberty and is quickly approaching the stage where being denied access to her mate could have severe repercussions.”  He actually laughed at the expression on Archer’s face.  “Of course, you didn’t notice that either, did you?  An adult Vulcan could not and would not serve on a ship full of humans, so they sent you a child instead – a teenager, if you would have it in human terms.  I’m sure even you can see the insult inherent in that, in spite of the fact that T’Pol grew into her place here so well.” 

“T’Pol…is a teenager.  A teenager about to go through puberty.”  Archer was having a hard time wrapping his mind around it, and the whole ‘alien’ concept was raising its head again and laughing at him much the same way Phlox just had.  “And she chose Trip to be her mate…”  His eyes narrowed again, this time suspiciously.  “Or did you have something to do with that, Doctor?” 

“My matchmaking would have had no effect if there had not already been a connection there.”  Phlox’ smile softened, as did his eyes.  “And my son is a fine catch, if I do say so myself.  Charles will be a good bond-mate for her, and perhaps becoming part of our family will be some consolation for losing her own, as it is for him.”  This time the doctor didn’t laugh when Archer looked startled.  Instead he arched an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest.  “So you also did not know that my son’s human family had rejected him as well, hmm?  I only knew that you did not care enough to even ask if he needed time away from his duties for the memorial services his parents forbade him to attend in the interest of ‘keeping peace in the family’.”  

Archer only thought he’d felt like a monster before – and he apparently had the rest of the Tucker family for company.  It was hard to believe they would push Trip away…well, like he had, which made it even worse.  He grasped for the only shred of consolation he could see.  “But he still had you, he talked to you.” 

“When the memories returned, yes.  But when it actually happened, he had no one.  They did not even send him a farewell message before we were out of contact with Earth.”  Phlox was starting to bristle again.  “You’re thinking yourself a monster right now, Captain, and you would be right.  You threw away the friendship and loyalty of a fine young man over a petty tantrum, and then you compounded that by neglecting even those responsibilities toward him which he was owed as an officer under your command.  In short, you used him as your own personal focus point for all the frustration and resentment you were feeling, for all your anger at being forced to make decisions you would rather not have been burdened with and having to take on responsibilities you were not sure you were equal to upholding.  It is a pity it was ineffective, isn’t it?  That you sacrificed your best friend, a man who would have died or killed for you, for such a fleeting, petty indulgence?  In fact, for nothing?”  

_Nothing_.   The word hung in the air; Archer almost thought he could see it, feel it.  The emptiness inside of him was even deeper than it had been that day in the shuttlebay, and it hurt.  It was the place where his friend had been, where his dog had been, where the relationships he’d fought so hard to establish with Malcolm, T’Pol, Hoshi and Travis had been before he’d burned them all away.  He slumped back against the bulkhead, feeling the unwelcoming coldness of it push through his uniform as though even the ship didn’t want anything to do with him.  “How can I fix this?” he murmured, more to himself than to Phlox.  “I can’t fix it, can I?” 

“Not all of it, no.”  Phlox moved away from him, distancing himself both physically and emotionally.  “Your relationship with my son is, as I have said, beyond repair.  So is your relationship with me, and I doubt you will ever regain the sort of rapport you had with the rest of your command staff again either.  But you can grow up now, stop acting like a spoiled child and give your crew back the captain they thought they were following into the Expanse on a noble mission to save Earth.”  In spite of the warmth of his words, the doctor’s voice held the same chill as the bulkhead.  “You were someone they respected then, someone they trusted and put their faith and the hopes of all they held dear in.  Now they believe they are in the hands of a madman who would think nothing of throwing away any of their lives, who even turned his back on his best friend during one of the most difficult periods in his life, leaving him completely alone.”  He straightened, standing almost at attention.  “That is my final demand, Captain.  Fix as much of your mistake as you can so that we can finish this mission and I can take my son home to heal – so that all the sons and daughters here whose lives you were entrusted with can return to their families and heal as well.  You’ve marked them all, indelibly, irrevocably – I believe the least you can do to make amends is to make sure you do not mark them again.” 

Archer didn’t realize the doctor had gone back into Sickbay until the doors whooshed closed, a dismissal of sorts.  With a sigh he started the long walk back to his ready room, contemplating the massive, impossible task he had in front of him: that of finding the man he had been and trying to remember how to be him again in the Expanse…and after. 

If there was an after, that was.    For any of them.


	9. When All Is Said and Done

Captain Jonathan Archer stood alone in the milling crowd, watching his people but not really a part of their homecoming celebration.  The sad tinge to his small smile said he’d accepted the isolation – which he certainly should have by now, since he’d had so much time on board Enterprise to get used to it. 

They were home now, though.  But he supposed that really didn’t make any difference in the way his crew felt about him.  He’d done his best in that area and gotten most of their loyalty back…but only part of their trust.  Broken trust, he reflected, didn’t mend very easily.  If it mended at all.

A loud cheer from the Denobulan contingent made him smile, even more sadly.  Every once in a while he’d catch a glimpse of Trip in that happy throng, T’Pol close by his side if not right under his arm, the engineer shyly exchanging hugs with the huge new family Phlox had brought him into.  Anyone else would probably have been overwhelmed, but as the doctor had once said Trip’s human family was similar to a Denobulan one in many ways. 

Except, of course, that the Denobulan family was _here_ and the Tucker clan was not.  That had really surprised Archer; he’d thought that Trip’s parents would have realized their mistake while Enterprise was in the Expanse and been ready to fix it the moment their oldest son was  back home.  But so far as he knew they hadn’t even sent Trip a letter since the ship had gotten back into communications range.  He would have known if they had, since he’d started keeping an eye on the mail to see who was getting messages from their families and who wasn’t.  It had been too late to do that for Trip and have it make a difference, of course.  Thank god for Phlox. 

Archer had been impressed before by Phlox the doctor, but that was nothing compared to watching Phlox the father in action.  He was protective without smothering, nurturing without being intrusive, and comfortingly authoritative without diminishing his son’s independence.  Trip had blossomed like a hothouse flower under his paternal attention, and Phlox himself had been content in a way Archer had never seen him – he’d been lonely, the captain had eventually realized, and had kicked himself for never considering it before.  Just because Denobulans weren’t comfortable with casual touching the way humans were didn’t mean they weren’t physically affectionate with family.  Archer didn’t think he’d seen Phlox in the same room with Trip without the doctor managing to touch his son somehow since…well, since Sim. 

But of course, no one knew about Sim.  No one who was going to say anything, anyway.  And one of the Expanse anomaly waves had damaged the computers and wiped out those files, so Starfleet had no idea.  Archer suspected the anomaly may have had a little help, but he wasn’t going to say anything about that either.  It was better that he didn’t know for sure, and he was pretty certain Malcolm Reed wasn’t going to tell him even if he asked so it was a moot point anyway. 

Malcolm was over there with the Denobulans too, surrounded by young women – all new relatives of Trip’s, apparently – who seemed content to share the armory officer amongst themselves and were most likely sizing him up as potential husband material.  Malcolm didn’t look like he minded, or like he was in a hurry for the attention to end.  Hoshi had been there for a time as well, but she’d left a little while ago with her parents after trading heartfelt hugs with Trip and Phlox and, surprisingly, T’Pol. 

_T’Pol_.  Archer still couldn’t believe he’d misread that situation so badly.  And he couldn’t believe the difference being bonded to Trip had made in the young Vulcan – and she was young for a Vulcan, quite young.  She was more open now, even friendly, and she smiled at Trip on a regular basis whether anyone was watching or not.  She hadn’t warmed up with Archer, but he really couldn’t blame her for that; he had almost destroyed her bond-mate a couple of times over, he didn’t expect forgiveness from that quarter. 

Archer sighed silently, seeing Trip steal a kiss from T’Pol while Phlox watched indulgently and Malcolm and his…companions, three of them, teased the loving couple.  There were a lot of quarters he wasn’t going to get absolution from, and although he’d come to terms with that it still ached a little from time to time.  They’d all started out the mission as friends, and he’d worked pretty hard to draw the stragglers like Malcolm into the fold before it had all gone to hell.  Before he’d blown it all to hell, rather.  Even finding and neutralizing the Xindi who had been threatening Earth hadn’t been able to rebuild any of that bridge, not even negotiating a peace treaty with the main Xindi government had.  And the Xindi ambassador they’d brought back with them hadn’t known how much it hurt Archer to be complimented on the ‘professional distance’ he maintained between himself and his command staff. 

God, what Archer wouldn’t have given for a little unprofessional fraternization on that long ride home.  That long, lonely ride home.

Movement caught his eye, hesitant, furtive movement that switched on battle-reflexes he’d earned in the Expanse, and Archer turned just enough to face the potential threat…and then relaxed when he saw who it was.  They had reason to be hesitant, he knew; no telling what sort of reception they were expecting to get.  He waited until they were close enough to hear him without him having to raise his voice.  “Mr. and Mrs. Tucker.”

They looked old, and Trip’s mother looked like she’d been crying – not just recently, but for a long, long time.  Trip’s father’s face was lined and tense, and there was fear in his eyes.  “Jonathan, they said he’d made it back.  We thought…” 

“We thought he’d be with you,” Trip’s mother finished.  “He didn’t…” her voice cracked, shook, “he didn’t…leave when he saw us coming, did he?” 

“You know he wouldn’t do that,” Archer reassured her, keeping his own face and voice steady with an effort that hurt.  They’d come looking for him hoping that his presence would buffer their reunion with their son; they knew what they’d done, were past expecting consideration, but a shred of hope still remained.  “I was kind of surprised that you weren’t here earlier,” he admitted, wishing he wasn’t going to have to trample that hope any minute now.  “I’m sure Trip would have been happy to see you.” 

They were desperate to believe that, he saw.  “We were…we hadn’t heard from him,” Trip’s father hedged.  “We weren’t sure whether he’d talk to us after what…after what happened.  We didn’t know if he’d want us here or not.” 

“Is he all right?”  the words spilled out of Trip’s mother in a rush of need and escaping tears.  “I knew you’d be there for him, Jonathan, I know you wouldn’t have let him be alone even though we…”  she choked up, reaching out to grasp Archer’s sleeve with desperate, trembling fingers.  “Please, just tell me he’s all right, even if he won’t see us, just tell me you were able to get him through what happened to Lizzie and the way we hurt him afterward.” 

Archer felt something inside of him freeze painfully, so cold he thought he should have heard cracking when he slowly, shamefully shook his head.  “Mrs. Tucker, I wish I could.”  He let his fingers slide over hers but didn’t clasp them, he didn’t dare.  The Tuckers had been kind to him in the past, had welcomed him into their warm family circle because he was their son’s best friend; they’d trusted him with Trip, trusted him to take care of their beloved oldest boy.  It wasn’t only his friend he’d betrayed all those months ago, and Archer saw the exact moment Trip’s parents realized the mistake they’d made as the meaning of his words sunk in.  “I…I don’t know what to tell you.  So much happened, even before the Xindi came, and then after…”  He forced himself to meet the older woman’s widening, horrified eyes.  “I didn’t know.” 

He wasn’t surprised when she pulled her hand away from his as though his touch burned her, wasn’t shocked by the sudden hostility that dawned in Trip’s father’s far-too-familiar blue eyes.  “You didn’t know,” the elder Tucker repeated slowly.  “Since before all this happened…” 

“I’m sorry,” Archer said – because he was, not because he thought the apology would count for anything.  He already knew it didn’t.  “He didn’t tell anybody, not until…” _until he died and I did some things that will haunt me for the rest of my life_ “…until a lot later.” 

“So no one knew.”  The older man was saddened and disgusted, but anger was pushing some of his earlier despair aside.  “No one cared.” 

“On the contrary, some of us cared very much.”  Phlox’ voice intruded smoothly into Archer’s guilty silence and made him jump, but the doctor ignored him.  “Mr. and Mrs. Tucker, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” he greeted the two startled parents with a gentle smile, inserting himself between them and his former captain and gesturing toward the happy throng of Denobulans.  “Charles is over there, do you see him?  He was most distressed when you did not arrive earlier, but we’ve been doing our best to distract him.  Now come, you must meet the rest of the family – you are part of it now, after all!  And you have acquired a daughter-in-law along the way as well…” 

He herded them away from Archer without so much as glancing at him, although Trip’s mother did spare him one last accusing look over her husband’s shoulder as they left.  Archer watched Phlox cut through the crowd – which obligingly parted for him – and take them directly to Trip, who after a few seconds of white-faced stammering shock apparently managed to make himself accept that they were there and the hugging started all over again.  Archer’s estimation of Phlox the father went up again, knowing he’d had to have been working for some time to cultivate the forgiveness he could see in Trip’s face right now.  It wouldn’t have been easy, or quick, but it had obviously paid off and Phlox looked proud enough to burst.  The doctor got a hug too, a thank you if Archer had ever seen one, and then Trip was introducing T’Pol to his human parents and the Denobulans closed in around them again.  Forgiveness was a beautiful thing. 

A beautiful thing you just didn’t appreciate until you couldn’t have it any more.  Until you didn’t _deserve_ it any more.

Jonathan Archer had made some hard decisions about his life after the Xindi problem had been dealt with – he’d had a lot of time on the way back home to think, maybe even too much time.  What had happened, horrible as it all had been and as many people as it had hurt, had done some good; it had made him look at himself, really look at himself.  And what he’d seen was a man who really shouldn’t be in command of a starship, at least not one that went outside the Sol system and into uncharted territory.  Sure he hadn’t known what he was getting into – and Starfleet hadn’t realized what they were sending him into – when he’d  worked so hard to become captain of the ship running his father’s engine, but he also hadn’t risen to the challenge the way he knew he should have either. 

Starfleet hadn’t agreed with him at first.  When he’d talked to Forrest a week ago about being permanently reassigned Earthside, the admiral had told him not to be hasty; the second time he brought it up, right before the ceremony, Forrest had said they’d complete the paperwork for his promotion some time later that day.  He’d looked sort of shell-shocked at the time, and Archer could only guess that he’d just heard from the Denobulans and didn’t know quite what he should think about it. 

To be honest, Archer himself wasn’t sure what to think about that part of it either.  Ever since their…confrontation in the corridor outside Sickbay, Phlox had been completely professional with him and Archer had thought the matter between them was settled.  He’d complied with the Denobulan’s demands and then some, and even though he’d known it wouldn’t earn him absolution Archer had thought it was enough to have put them on an even keel.  But Phlox had approached him right before they left the ship for the last time, had backed him against the wall again as a matter of fact, much to the captain’s surprise.  He’d leaned forward into Archer’s personal space, his voice dropping so low it was almost a snarl.  “As _athel_ _ va-aramin _to Charles Tucker, I swear that I will never forgive you for what you have done to him and neither will our family.”  And then he’d simply spun on his heel and walked away without another word. 

The words had had the distinct ring of ritual to them, and Archer had gotten a bad feeling that a line had been crossed he hadn’t wanted to see the other side of.  His worry had been confirmed when he’d seen the look on Hoshi’s face.  “Ensign Sato, what was that all about?” 

Her eyes had been wide and shocked, and for a moment he’d thought she wasn’t going to answer him; she was looking around like she wasn’t sure she _should_ answer him if someone was around to hear her, but finally she opened her mouth and in a voice not much louder than a whisper told him, “It means…that was a formal statement of shunning, sir.  He must have been communicating with his family council ever since we got within range or he couldn’t have…it means they all agree that you’ve irreparably wronged the family, so they’ll no longer acknowledge your existence.”  And then she’d taken off too, after one last, horrified look, leaving Archer standing there by himself wondering just how much reach Phlox’ family had. 

Enough to cut straight through Starfleet’s diplomatic red tape to reach Admiral Forrest on short notice, apparently.  Enough to convince the admiral that letting him bench himself was a good decision – a decision Archer had a feeling might not have been his to make if he hadn’t gotten there before the Denobulans did.  He’d been afraid the Vulcans might have had something to say about it too, but they’d been conspicuous by their absence since Enterprise had gotten back. 

Not that Archer thought that was necessarily a bad thing; he’d been half expecting to have to fight them off to keep them from swooping in and taking T’Pol, so he’d been relieved not to see a single Vulcan ship all the way back home.  He’d gotten the impression T’Pol had been relieved too, and he _knew_ Trip had been.  It had probably never been far from the engineer’s mind that the Vulcans might snatch his bond-mate away from him, and he wouldn’t have expected Starfleet – or his captain – to intervene.  Archer would have, of course.  He’d gone against the Vulcans before where  T’Pol was concerned. 

But that had been _before_.  He’d done plenty of things _before_ that no one would expect from him now.   Especially not Trip.

Forrest appeared out of the crowd and came to stand beside him.  “Jonathan.” 

Archer shook off his introspection.  “Admiral.”  He dredged up a smile that was at least partially real.  “We did it.” 

“Yes, you did.”  The admiral smiled back, faintly.  “No one expected you to come back with a treaty.” 

“I’d guess no one expected us to come back at all.”  Archer knew they hadn’t, especially the Vulcans.  “But at least we proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the exploration program wasn’t the reason they attacked us.” 

“You did that too,” Forrest agreed.  He followed Archer’s gaze back to the Denobulans.  “They won’t tell us what happened, you know.  And you really shouldn’t be standing here staring at them.” 

Archer shrugged.  “It doesn’t matter – I’m shunned, I don’t exist for them.”  He caught Forrest’s look out of the corner of his eye and sighed.  “I can’t tell you either, Admiral.  But I deserved it, don’t think I didn’t.” 

Forrest nodded slowly.  “Tucker resigned his commission, I'm sure you knew that.  And the Denobulan ambassador was very insistent that Starfleet leave him strictly alone.  She said we’d done enough already.” 

“We did.”  This time Archer looked up at him.  “He’s going to work in their engineering lab, isn’t he?” 

“So is his wife.”  Forrest made a face.  “You could have warned me about that one, you know.  Hell of a surprise to have dumped in my lap, especially with Soval standing right there looking like he’d just sucked a lemon.” 

“He always looks like that,” Archer said, rolling his eyes.  “If they weren’t so damned secretive we would have known she was about to hit puberty and things might have worked out differently.  You read my report.” 

It was the admiral’s turn to sigh.  “Yes, I did.  I have the feeling you left out as much as you put in, but what was in there was enough.  I won’t ask,” he added quickly when the younger man stiffened.  “I know you, Jon, you wouldn’t have left anything out without a good reason.  Maybe someday you’ll be able to tell me what it was.” 

“Someday you might be glad I didn’t, Admiral.”  Archer was sure of that, not a doubt in his mind.  Forrest liked Tucker.  “At least we came back with most of the people we left with.” 

“You did that,” the admiral allowed.  He saw Archer’s eyes stray back to the Denobulans and followed with his own, taking in the size of the group and who was in it, then shook his head and clapped the younger man on the shoulder.  “Why don’t you come have a drink with me, I can start telling you all the dirt on everyone who works at Starfleet Headquarters,” he offered, lowering his voice.  “Doesn’t do you any good to just stand here staring at them, Jon.  Come on, let’s go.” 

Archer nodded and tore his eyes away, falling into step with Forrest and forcibly turning his mind to the future as they made their way out of the crowd.  He had a new life to start building, and even though right now he couldn’t see it happening he was going to try to make it a good one.  His mistakes would always be with him, but Archer knew that if he didn’t live past them then he hadn’t learned a thing.  He would give himself a second chance to be the person he’d thought he was, no more, no less.


End file.
